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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Richard  Petrie 


ROBIN    HOOD 


*yy'*Mii*i4»iT«^ 


RICHARD  CCEUR  DE  LION 


BOLD 

ROBIN  HOOD 

and 

<HisOtit/CKi)8cind 


THEIR  FAMOUS  EXPLOITS 
IN  SHERWOOD  FOREST 


PENNED  AND  PICTURED 
BY 

LOUIS  RHEAD 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


BOOKS  ILLUSTRATED  BY 
LOUIS  RHEAD 

LAMB'S  TALES  FROM  SHAKESPEARE 

GRIMM'S  FAIRY  TALES 

ARABIAN  NIGHTS 

GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS 

HANS  ANDERSEN'S  FAIRY  TALES 

ROBIN  HOOD 

ROBINSON  CRUSOE 

SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON 

TREASURE  ISLAND 

TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL  DAYS 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 
[ESTABLISHED  1817] 


COPYRIGHT.   191: 
MINTED  IN  THE 


CHAPTER  PACK 

AUTHOR'S  PREFACE xi 

I.  ROBIN  HOOD — His  BIRTH  AND  BOYHOOD i 

II.  WHY  ROBERT  FITZOOTH  CHANGED  His  NAME      ...  7 

III.  ROBIN  THE  OUTLAW 22 

IV.  ROBIN  HOOD  FIGHTS  LITTLE  JOHN 32 

V.  WILL  GAMWELL  BECOMES  WILL  SCARLET 41 

VI.  ROBIN  HOOD  WINS  THE  GOLDEN  ARROW 52 

VII.  How  ROBIN  HOOD  MET  FRIAR  TUCK 61 

VIII.  ROBIN  MEETS  Two  PRIESTS  UPON  THE  WAY      ...  77 

IX.  ALLAN-A-DALE  GETS  His  BRIDE 84 

X.  How  ROBIN  HOOD  DID  CHEAT  THE  TINKER  ....  98 

XI.  LITTLE  JOHN  AND  THE  SHERIFF'S  COOK 113 

XII.  ROBIN  TRIES  His  HAND  SELLING  MEATS 132 

XIII.  ROBIN  HOOD  AND  ARTHUR  THE  TANNER 140 

XIV.  ROBIN  AND  THE  BISHOP  OF  HEREFORD 149 

XV.  ROBIN  HOOD  AND  THE  BEGGAR 162 

XVI.  ROBIN  SELLS  POTS  AND  DISHES 174 

XVII.  ROBIN  AND  SIR  GUY  OF  GISBOURNE 186 

XVIII.  ROBIN  RESCUES  WILL  STUTELY 201 

XIX.  ROBIN  AND  SIR  RICHARD  o'  THE  LEA 210 

XX.  ROBIN  MEETS  MAID  MARIAN 227 

XXI.  KING  RICHARD  VISITS  ROBIN 236 

XXII.  ROBIN  WINS  THE  QUEEN'S  PRIZE 245 

XXIII.  ROBIN  PURSUED  BY  THE  KING 261 

XXIV.  ROBIN  RESCUES  THE  WIDOW'S  SONS 272 

XXV.  ROBIN  HOOD'S  DEATH  AND  BURIAL                               .  281 


905404 


RICHARD  COEUR  DE  LION Frontispiece 

A  MAP  TO  SHOW  THE  SITUATION  OF  ROYAL  HUNTING  FORESTS 

WHERE  ROBIN  HOOD  LIVED A.D.  Il6o-I247 Page  I 

ROBERT  WOULD  SHOOT  WITH  HIS  OWN  LITTLE  BOW  AT  THE 

SQUIRRELS "  3 

"REMEMBER,  THOU  BOASTER,  'TIS  THY  HEAD  is  WAGERED"  .  "  13 

ESPIED  A  GROUP  OF  FORESTERS  AND  TWO  CAPTIVES  ..."  25 

ROBIN  HOOD "  29 

"PRITHEE,  GOOD  FELLOW,  WHERE  ART  THOU  NOW?"  ...  "  33 

LITTLE  JOHN "  37 

"GOD-A-MERCY,  GOOD  FELLOW,"  QUOTH  ROBIN,  "FAIN  WOULD 

i  KNOW  THY  NAME" .,  .  .  ....  "  45 

MASTER  WILL  SCARLET "  49 

AN  ARROW  CAME  WHIZZING  THROUGH  THE  OPEN  WINDOW  .  .  "  57 

THE  FRIAR  TOOK  ROBIN  ON  HIS  BACK  . "  65 

FRIAR  TUCK "  71 

"PRAY  MORE  EARNESTLY,"  QUOTH  ROBIN "  81 

"WE  FIND  THEE  BEDRAGGLED  AND  DOWNCAST" "  87 

ALLAN-A-DALE "  95 

YE  TINKER "  IQI 

WITH  A  SMILE  ON  HIS  FACE  HE  REACHED  OVER  AND  DREW 

FORTH  THE  WARRANT "  IO7 

HE  SMOTE  ERIC  FULL  AND  SQUARE  ON  HIS  SKULL "  117 

ERIC  O*  LINCOLN "  121 

YE  SHERIFF  OF  NOTTINGHAM "  129 

"NAY,"  QUOTH  ROBIN,  "FEAR  NOTHING,  FOR  i  WILL  DO  THEE 

NO  HARM" "  135 

ARTHUR-A-BLAND,  YE  TANNER "14! 

[ix] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"MY  FREEDOM   HAVE  I  WON  THROUGH   MY  STAFF,  AND   NOT  BY 

GRACE    OF   THEE" Page    145 

YE    PROUD    BISHOP   OF   HEREFORD "       153 

"HERE'S  MONEY  ENOUGH,  MASTER,"  QUOTH  LITTLE  JOHN,  "TO 

PAY  THE  RECKONING" "    157 

YE  CRUEL  BEGGAR "165 

THE  BEGGAR  FLUNG  THE  MEAL  IN  THEIR  FACES "    169 

"l  GIVE  ONE  EXTRA,  NO  MATTER  HOW  LARGE  OR  SMALL "     .  "    179 

YE  SHERIFF'S  WIFE "     183 

GUY  OF  GISBOURNE "    189 

ROBIN  DROVE  HIS  BLADE  THROUGH  SIR  GUY*S  BODY      ..."    197 

WILL  STUTELY "    2O3 

LITTLE  JOHN  HASTILY  CUT  WILL  STUTELY's  BONDS    .    .    .    .  "    207 

SIR  RICHARD  O*  THE  LEA "    213 

PRIOR  VINCENT "     219 

"l  COME  TO  PRAY  THEE  THAT  THOU  WILT  GIVE  ME  A  LITTLE 

TIME  OF  GRACE" "    223 

MAID  MARIAN "     229 

ROBIN  HOOD  AND  MARIAN  IN  THEIR  BOWER "233 

RICHARD  CCEUR  DE  LION "    237 

THE  KING  BEGAN  TO  ROLL  UP  HIS  SLEEVE "24! 

YE  GOOD  QUEEN  ELEANOR "    249 

ROBIN  WINS  THE  QUEEN'S  PRIZE "     257 

PRIOR  WILLIAM  PROVIDES  A  FEAST  FOR  THE  KING  AND  THE 

BISHOP "      267 

"COME,  CHANGE   THINE   APPAREL   FOR  MINE,  OLD   MAN*'.      .      .  "      273 

ROBIN   SHOOTS   HIS   LAST   SHAFT "      283 


AUTHOR'S 
PREFACE 


IN  this  version  of  the  Robin  Hood  tradition  I  have  endeavored 
to  group  the  various  incidents  in  logical  progression,  and  to 
connect  them  as  intimately  as  possible  with  the  customs  and 
manners  of  the  age  in  which  it  is  supposed  he  lived — the  latter 
part  of  the  twelfth  century.  Moreover,  I  have  made  character- 
portraits  of  all  the  principals  in  the  legend,  paying  particular 
attention  to  historical  accuracy  in  the  matter  of  dress,  arms,  and 
other  accessories.  It  is  a  singular  circumstance  that  the  name 
of  an  outlawed  individual  of  the  twelfth  century  should  remain 
as  well  known  as  that  of  Richard  the  Lion-hearted  or  the  Black 
Prince;  that  the  echoes  of  his  personality  should  be  preserved 
in  household  ballad  and  fireside  tale;  that  his  words  and  deeds 
continue  to  be  a  familiar  part  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  heritage — 
all  this  is  pretty  conclusive  proof  that  Robin  Hood  was  an  actual 
living  personage.  There  is  nothing  mythical  about  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  renowned  outlaw;  and  though  medieval  English 
historians  never  mentioned  this  notable  man,  it  was  probably 
his  avowed  enmity  to  churchmen  that  caused  the  monks  to  refrain 
from  rendering  homage  to  his  virtues.  History,  in  former  times, 
was  written  by  none  but  monks. 

It  is  remarkable  that  one  of  the  best  stories  of  Robin  Hood 
was  written  and  illustrated  by  an  American  artist  who  had  never 
set  foot  on  English  soil.  In  this  latter  respect  I  am  more  for- 
tunate, having  been  born  in  the  same  country  as  Robin  Hood 
and  having  passed  much  of  my  early  life  in  roaming  about  what 
still  remains  of  Sherwood  and  Need  wood  forests.  I  have  en- 
deavored to  retain  the  quaint,  simple,  yet  direct  style  of  the 
ballads,  which  are  surprisingly  unaffected  and  natural  in  their 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE 

appeal  to  the  youthful  mind.  These  ballads  supply  the  material 
for  all  but  three  of  the  twenty-five  chapters,  and  the  titles  are 
printed  on  the  contents-page.  The  first  three  chapters  are 
original  matter,  because  no  ballad  describes  and  history  is  silent 
concerning  the  childhood  and  youth  of  Robin  Hood.  Most  of 
the  earlier  versions  begin  with  Robin  at  his  meeting  with  Little 
John,  when  he  was  a  full-fledged  outlaw  of  middle  age.  Some 
of  the  ballads  are  very  ancient — one,  in  particular,  was  printed 
in  black  letter  by  Wynken  de  Worde  about  1489,  and  is  now 
preserved  in  the  public  library  at  Cambridge.  Others  are  of 
later  date,  belonging  to  the  time  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  none 
are  later  than  the  period  of  Charles  the  Second. 

The  map  of  Royal  hunting  forests  is  intended  to  show  only 
those  places  which  are  connected  with  Robin  Hood's  life,  omitting 
the  New  Forest  and  other  local  stretches  of  woodland  lying  in  the 
south  of  England.  It  is  stated  that  England  at  this  period  was  so 
covered  with  woods  that  a  squirrel  could  hop  from  tree  to  tree 
across  the  entire  country.  The  great  Watling  Street  and  Ermine 
Street  roads,  built  by  the  Romans  eight  hundred  years  before,  were 
still  in  fair  condition  in  the  time  of  Robin  Hood.  This  map  will 
doubtless  be  of  greater  service  to  American  boys  than  to  their 
English  cousins,  for  no  English  boy  is  ignorant  of  the  where- 
abouts of  Sherwood  and  Nottingham. 

Finally,  I  have  derived  Robin  Hood's  character  and  personality 
from  the  testimony  of  the  old  balladists  and  strolling  minstrels 
who  composed  their  rimes  to  be  sung  to  their  harps,  and  who 
pictured  him  as  the  most  humane  and  princely  of  outlaws.  Robin 
Hood  and  his  merry  men  were  not  ordinary  cutthroats,  but  a 
band  of  merry  fellows  without  guile,  bold  and  fair  in  fight, 
courteous  and  kind  to  women  and  children,  bountiful  to  the  poor 
and  needy,  and  striking  hard  at  cruelty  and  tyranny  in  a  period 
when  there  were  few  to  take  the  part  of  the  poor  and  unlettered 
man.  My  Robin  Hood  will  be  found  a  brave,  virtuous,  and 
tactful  leader,  who  wisely  tested  in  personal  combat  each  new 
recruit  before  he  was  allowed  to  join  the  band,  and  who  was  loved 
and  revered  by  all  for  his  many  excellent  and  amiable  qualities. 


ROBIN   HOOD — HIS    BIRTH   AND   BOYHOOD 

The  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  nobly  born, 

That  came  of  noble  blood, 
To  Marion  went,  with  good  intent, 

By  the  name  of  Robin  Hood. 

N  the  reign  of  King  Henry  II.,  there  lived 
on  an  estate  near  Locksley  Village  in  Eng- 
land, about  two  miles  from  the  famous  old 
town  of  Uttoxeter  in  the  county  of  Staf- 
ford and  almost  on  the  borders  of  the  Royal 
Forest  of  Needwood,  a  nobleman  named 
\  William  Fitzooth,  Earl  of  Huntingdon.  Earl 
William  was  a  valliant  warrior,  and,  a  man  of  honorable  fame. 
Like  so  many  of  the  knights  and  nobles  in  that  troubled  age,  he 
spent  most  of  his  time  away  from  home,  fighting  in  the  great  wars 
and  petty  quarrels  that  were  always  afoot  in  England  or  France, 
in  Normandy,  Ireland,  or  Wales.  But  during  the  brief  intervals 
of  peace  he  would  return  to  take  his  ease  in  his  strong  castle,  and 
at  such  times  it  was  his  chief  delight  to  train  and  teach  his  sturdy 
young  son,  Robert. 

When  the  boy  was  but  five  years  old  his  father  would  lift  him 
up  to  ride  before  him  upon  the  great  black  war-steed  through  the 
i  [i] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

winding  fern-clad  paths  of  Needwood  Forest.  Next  to  fighting, 
the  Earl  loved  hunting — whether  with  hawk  or  hound,  with  bow 
or  boar-spear — and  he  always  took  Robert  with  him  when  he  rode 
forth  into  the  forest  with  his  woodsmen  and  his  dogs.  Often  the 
boy  would  shout  with  glee  when  he  saw  his  father  pierce  with  his 
spear  and  pin  to  earth  a  savage  wild  boar  which  the  great  dogs 
had  driven  right  into  their  path.  Again,  gazing  down  a  leafy 
glade  with  his  sharp  blue  eyes,  he  would  see  a  great  hart  come 
leaping,  affrighted  by  the  baying  hounds.  Then  his  father,  who 
had  been  waiting  with  tense  muscles  and  steady  nerves,  would 
raise  his  mighty  bow  of  yew  and  draw  the  arrow  clear  to  its  head, 
the  feathers  brushing  his  cheek.  The  next  instant,  with  a  low 
hum,  the  cloth-yard  shaft  would  be  loosed,  and  the  stag,  smitten 
through  the  shoulder,  would  rise  on  its  haunches  and  fall  to  its 
knees  in  death.  Ever  and  anon  Robert  would  shoot  with  his 
own  little  bow  at  the  squirrels  chattering  and  playing  among 
the  leafy  branches.  He  was  a  good  marksman  even  then,  and 
it  gladdened  his  father's  heart  to  see  him  bring  down  many  a 
squirrel,  martin,  or  sable. 

In  those  far-off  days  there  was  no  attending  school.  The 
children  of  the  rich  barons  were  trained  from  their  earliest  years 
in  war-like  exercises  and  in  the  rules  of  chivalry.  They  were 
taught  to  be  brave  and  honorable  and  courteous,  to  ride  and  to 
fight.  Robert  grew  apace  into  a  tall  youth,  well  skilled  in  the  use 
of  arms.  Yet  he  knew  little  of  the  great  world.  He  bore  him- 
self as  befitted  an  earl's  son,  with  gentleness  and  yet  with  au- 
thority, but  he  had  been  reared  almost  in  the  forest,  among 
yeomen  and  peasants.  Of  them  he  learned  many  good  lessons — 
to  give  and  take  hard  knocks,  to  be  plain  and  downright  in  speech, 
to  value  every  man  at  his  true  worth,  to  despise  a  coward  and  to 
love  a  brave,  honest  fellow,  even  if  he  were  of  low  degree.  De- 
spite his  noble  birth  he  was  a  yeoman  at  heart. 

Up  to  his  twelfth  year  he  enjoyed  a  merry,  care -free  life, 
saddened  only  by  his  father's  long  absences.  Boy  as  he  was,  he 
practised  with  broadsword  and  quarter-staff,  for  in  those  days 
a  man  who  had  not  learned  to  defend  himself  in  his  youth  would 

[2] 


ROBERT  WOULD  SHOOT  WITH  HIS  OWN  LITTLE  BOW 
AT  THE  SQUIRRELS 


ROBIN    HOOD 

have  been  in  a  sorry  plight.  But  of  all  weapons  he  loved  the 
long-bow  best.  He  fashioned  his  own  bows  and  arrows  and  used 
them  constantly,  so  that  ere  long  none  had  a  steadier  hand  nor 
a  truer  eye.  In  knowledge  of  woodcraft  he  became  the  equal  of 
the  old  foresters.  He  had  a  nimble  wit,  loved  good  company 
and  manly  sports.  He  was  always  present  at  the  fairs  and  merry- 
making in  Locksley  and  the  near-by  villages  when  the  sturdy  yeo- 
men wrestled  or  fought  with  quarter-staves  for  prizes — a  ram,  a 
bull,  a  real  gold  ring,  or  a  pipe  of  wine.  But  he  was  never  so 
happy  as  when  treading  the  soft,  loamy,  flower-bedecked  sward 
of  Needwood  Forest  that  stretched  for  miles  and  miles,  thickly 
covered  with  beech,  oak,  and  chestnut  trees. 

When  Robert  was  twelve  years  old  news  came  of  his  father's 
death.  Earl  William  had  joined  the  army  with  which  King 
Henry  was  invading  Ireland.  Landing  at  Waterford,  the  King 
marched  toward  Dublin  to  fight  a  famous  native  prince  named 
Strongbow,  and  at  the  storming  of  one  of  the  enemies'  castles 
Earl  William  was  struck  down  headlong  from  his  horse  by  a 
barbed  and  poisoned  arrow  which  pierced  his  eye  through  a 
crevice  in  his  helmet.  Thus  Robert  became  an  orphan,  for  his 
mother  had  died  the  previous  year. 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  Thomas  a  Becket,  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  was  foully  murdered.  King  Henry  had  reached  the 
age  of  forty,  and  had  four  sons  living:  Henry,  in  his  eighteenth 
year;  Richard,  in  his  fifteenth;  Geoffrey,  in  his  fourteenth;  and 
John,  in  his  sixth.  These  were  the  sons  of  the  good  Queen 
Eleanor. 

Robert  wept  grievously  when  he  heard  that  his  father  was  dead, 
and  for  many  days  he  moped  and  felt  bitterly  toward  the  whole 
world.  But  at  length  he  took  courage,  telling  himself  that  from 
now  on  he  must  play  the  man.  As  time  passed,  his  grief  became 
less  sharp;  but  there  was  a  budding  fear  in  his  heart  lest  his  uncle, 
now  his  guardian,  might  not  prove  true  to  his  trust.  This  fear 
proved  all  too  well  advised,  for  his  uncle  was  a  reckless  spend- 
thrift, insomuch  that  by  the  time  the  boy  was  fifteen  his  castle 
and  broad  lands,  his  serfs  and  cattle,  were  all  forfeited.  So 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Robert's  guardian,  to  escape  the  trouble  in  store  for  him,  wended 
his  way  to  the  wars,  leaving  his  poor  young  nephew  to  follow  in 
the  same  path — or  perchance  to  seek  an  asylum  in  the  forests  of 
his  own  and  the  neighboring  counties  of  Nottingham,  Derby,  and 
York. 


II 


WHY  ROBERT  FITZOOTH   CHANGED   HIS   NAME 

There  are  twelve  months  in  all  the  year, 

As  I  hear  many  say; 
But  the  merriest  month  in  all  the  year 

Is  the  merry  month  of  May. 

N  a  bright  May  morn  in  the  year  of  our  Lord 
1175  a  youth  strode  with  a  rapid  gait  along 
the  woodland  path  on  the  very  edge  of  Need- 
wood  Forest.  Though  it  was  yet  early  in  the 
day,  the  sun  was  high  and  warm;  the  throstle 
and  blackbird  sang;  the  cuckoo  from  a  high 
tree-top  called  the  double  note  to  his  mate, 
and  all  the  woods  seemed  glad.  The  bright  yellow-green  buds 
were  just  bursting  forth,  and  the  forest  sward  as  far  as  eye  could 
reach  was  a  huge  carpet  of  bright  azure  bluebells  that  gave  a  rich 
odor  to  the  fresh  morning  air.  The  tall,  comely  lad,  straight  as  a 
young  birch,  was  scarce  fifteen  winters  old,  yet  it  needed  but  a 
glance  to  see  that  he  was  a  proper  youth,  stout  and  bold.  He  had 
the  keen,  bright  eyes  of  a  falcon,  full,  rounded  lips,  and  a  com- 
plexion deeply  tanned  His  auburn  curls  hung  down  from  be- 
neath a  jaunty  cap  of  buckskin  dyed  old-gold,  on  the  side  of 
which,  pointing  upward,  was  buckled  the  middle  tail-feather  of  a 
cock  pheasant.  He  wore  a  deep  olive-green  jerkin,  or  coat,  and 
the  hose  on  his  well-formed  limbs  fitted  like'a  glove.  His  tough 


ROBIN    HOOD 

yew  long-bow  hung  from  his  shoulder  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be 
instantly  ready  when  needed.  His  beautifully  embroidered 
quiver,  chock-full  of  cloth-yard  arrows,  was  slung  from  his 
shoulder-belt  on  the  left  side.  From  the  red  girdle  drawn 
tightly  round  his  waist  hung  a  sheathed  dagger  or  hunting-knife, 
and  below  it,  fastened  by  straps,  was  a  leathern  pouch  containing 
all  his  worldly  possessions — his  mother's  rosary  and  gold  ring,  as 
well  as  food  for  the  day,  some  sliced  brawn  and  wheaten  cakes. 
He  had  already  gone  many  miles  from  Locksley,  for  he  had  been  up 
and  on  his  way  before  the  break  of  dawn — and  now  he  was  nearing 
Tutbury  town,  where  he  would  rest  awhile  at  the  old  Dog  and 
Partridge  Inn  for  a  bite  and  a  sup  with  the  host,  one  of  his  father's 
old  retainers.  Thus  far  he  had  not  met  a  living  soul.  Following 
the  river  Dove,  which  joins  the  Trent  below  Tutbury,  he  would 
strike  the  Trent  valley,  due  east  for  Nottingham  town. 

Presently  he  marched  up  High  Street  and  stepped  in  through 
the  little  tap-room  door  of  the  white-and-black  oak-timbered  inn. 

"  Hulloa,  whither  goest  thou,  Master  Robert,  dressed  all  so  gay 
and  fine?"  cried  mine  host  of  the  Dog  and  Partridge. 

"Knowest  not,  good  Giles,"  quoth  Robert,  "of  the  shooting- 
match  to  be  held  on  the  morrow  at  Nottingham  town  ?  I  go  to 
shoot,  with  other  stout  yeomen,  for  the  prize — a  silver  bugle." 

"Saist  thou  so?"  quoth  Giles.  "Marry,  and  it  may  be  thou 
shalt  win,  for  thou  canst  speed  an  arrow  with  the  best;  I  know 
it  well." 

Then  the  worthy  Giles  called  to  his  good  dame  for  a  hearty 
meal  of  the  very  best — nothing  was  too  good  for  their  master's 
gallant  son.  So  they  brought  a  leveret  pasty,  some  fried  trout, 
fresh  from  the  river — a  can  of  ale  was  too  mean  and  coarse,  it 
must  be  a  flagon  of  wine,  and  that  of  the  finest  quality.  So 
young  Robert  set  to  and  made  a  hole  in  that  pie  that  pleased 
the  good  dame  mightily. 

"Now,  my  brave  young  master,"  quoth  Giles,  "if  thou  thinkest 
to  reach  Nottingham  town  by  nightfall  thou  must  e'en  away. 
The  path  is  easy  enow  to  Repton,  but  poor  and  boggy  at  Sawley; 
from  thence,  see  to  it  thou  leavest  the  Trent  valley  and  dost 

[8] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

follow  the  upper  woodlands.     Then  strike  through  the   King's 
forest  for  the  town." 

So  Robert  parted  from  the  worthy  host  and  hostess  of  the  Dog 
and  Partridge  with  a  full  stomach  and  great  store  of  good  wishes. 
He  marched  down  High  Street  of  Tutbury  town,  looking  neither 
to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  while  the  townsfolk  paused  to  stare 
at  him  and  the  maids  glanced  at  him  coyly,  for  they  thought 
they  never  yet  had  seen  a  youth  so  fair.  As  for  Robert,  he 
recked  nothing  of  their  looks,  for  his  mind  was  all  set  on  the 
shooting-match  at  Nottingham.  His  head  buzzed  with  pleasant 
thoughts  of  the  morrow,  and  his  blood  coursed  briskly  through 
his  veins.  Soon  he  was  swinging  along  the  forest  path  at  a  five- 
mile  gait.  Yet  as  he  jogged  on  he  was  alert,  always  prepared 
at  a  moment's  notice  to  defend  himself  should  harm  threaten. 

He  knew  full  well  his  skill  with  the  long-bow,  for  many  a  time 
in  friendly  trials  he  had  beaten  the  King's  foresters  and  the  men 
of  Locksley  town.  It  was  his  fifteenth  birthday  on  the  morrow; 
he  would  surely  win  a  prize,  and  after  that — he  pondered,  and 
said  to  himself,  "Mayhap  I  shall  become  one  of  the  King's 
foresters,  then  an  archer  of  the  King's  guard,  and  so  off  to  the 
wars  like  my  father  before  me." 

Just  at  that  moment  he  espied  through  the  leafy  glade  a  small 
herd  of  hinds  and  young  fawns  led  by  a  broad-antlered  hart 
passing  slowly  by  beneath  the  branches  of  a  wide-spreading  oak. 
Instantly  his  bow  was  in  place,  with  an  arrow  nocked  to  the 
string;  but  ere  he  loosed  the  shaft,  he  paused,  bethinking  himself 
of  what  might  follow  should  he  kill.  He  was  sorely  tempted,  for 
he  wished  to  make  trial  of  his  skill  before  to-morrow's  test; 
yet  in  a  moment  he  sighed,  lowered  his  arm,  and  slacked  his  bow. 
He  knew  the  penalty  of  killing  the  King's  royal  hart;  not  a  soul 
that  could  bend  a  bow  in  all  merry  England  but  knew  it  well. 
Better  by  far  to  be  shot  and  killed  outright  than  to  have  both 
eyes  torn  from  their  sockets,  and  the  forefinger  and  thumb  cut 
from  each  hand,  then  to  be  led  into  the  forest  to  bleed  and  die. 
And  so,  as  he  strode  along,  right  glad  was  he  that  he  had  with- 
held his  hand  from  slaying  of  the  King's  deer. 

[9] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

The  sun  was  now  at  high  noon.  Since  breakfast  at  the  Dog 
and  Partridge  he  had  covered  over  twenty  miles,  and  his  stomach 
began  to  crave  food.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  rest  awhile  at 
the  first  spring  or  brook  that  lay  in  his  path.  At  last  he  came  to 
a  little  sparkling  rivulet  tumbling  down  a  bank-side,  where  sat  a 
swineherd. 

"Ho,  good  fellow/'  cried  Robert,  "what  news  in  these  parts?" 

"None  that  I  wot  of,  my  master,  save  that  there  be  a  shooting- 
match  in  the  town  on  the  morrow,  and  many,  like  thee,  do 
wend  their  way  to  it.  May  our  Good  Lady  grant  thee  a 
prize!" 

"Grammercy,  good  man,  so  I  trust  she  may." 

Thereupon  Robert  sat  down  beside  him,  and  taking  from  his 
pouch  the  brawn  and  bread,  gave  half  to  the  swineherd,  who 
swallowed  it  like  a  hungry  dog,  in  big  gulps,  long  before  the  youth 
had  finished  his  share.  Then,  lying  down  at  full  length,  Robert 
took  deep  draughts  of  the  cold,  clear  water,  and  again  started  on 
his  journey. 

He  had  chosen  to  go  afoot  rather  than  on  horseback  because 
he  could  thus  more  easily  make  his  way  through  the  tangled  mass 
of  bracken  and  underbrush  in  the  deep  forest.  This  jaunt  of 
over  twoscore  miles  taxed  his  strength  not  at  all,  for  he  was  both 
strong  of  limb  and  light  of  heart,  and  now,  within  half  a  dozen 
miles  of  Nottingham  town,  he  was  almost  as  fresh  as  when  he 
had  started.  He  had  just  heard  the  baying  of  a  hound,  when, 
as  he  came  forth  from  a  thick,  tangled  path  to  the  open,  a  loud, 
angry  voice  shouted:  "Hold!  Who  goes  there  that  so  boldly 
marches  through  the  King's  deer  forest?" 

The  lad  turned  aside  and  saw  a  band  of  foresters  seated  and 
standing  around  the  trunk  of  a  giant  oak.  There  were  fifteen 
of  them.  All  except  the  speaker  were  ranged  round  an  immense 
dish  of  venison  pie.  Near  by  stood  some  barrels  of  ale.  Leather 
wine-bottles  and  drinking-cups  of  horn  lay  scattered  about  on 
the  mossy  soft  ground.  All  were  dressed  alike  from  top  to  toe 
in  Lincoln  green. 

"My  name  is  Robert  Fitzooth,"  quoth  Robert,  boldly,  "and 
[to] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

I  go  to  the  shooting-match  at  Nottingham  town,  where  I  hope  to 
win  a  prize,  and  then,  perchance,  become  a  king's  forester." 

At  this  answer  there  arose  a  loud,  boisterous  laugh  from  every 
throat. 

"What!"  cried  the  chief,  "thou  a  king's  forester!  Alack!  thou 
couldst  no  more  pull  that  man's  bow  hanging  at  thy  back  than 
could  a  blind  kitten!  Why,  thou  young  whippet,  our  company 
needs  men  who  can  shoot  a  shaft  from  a  goodly  bow,  not  a  babe 
just  weaned." 

"Do  but  look  at  him,  comrades,"  said  one,  holding  up  a  can  of 
ale.  "I  trow  a  babe  so  young  could  never  draw  that  string  so 
much  as  the  shake  of  a  lamb's  tail." 

"I'll  hold  the  best  of  you  twenty  marks,"  Robert  made  answer, 
turning  red  with  anger  and  shame,  "that  I'll  hit  a  mark  at  a 
hundred  rods." 

"Wilt  thou  so?"  jeered  the  chief  forester.  "Lay  down  thy 
money." 

"Alas!   I  have  no  money." 

"0-ho!  This  young  braggart  hath  no  money,  yet  he  layeth  a 
wager!  Come  now,  my  fine  bantam  cock,  what  wilt  thou  wager?" 

At  this,  young  Robert  went  clean  beside  himself  with  rage. 

"I  lay  my  head  against  thy  purse,"  he  cried,  in  a  choking  voice, 
"whatsoe'er  it  contain,  much  or  little,  for  there  down  the  glade, 
fivescore  rods  away,  I  see  a  herd  of  deer,  and  by  the  leave  of 
our  Lady  I  will  cause  a  hart  to  die." 

"Done  with  you,  and  there  is  my  purse,"  roared  the  angry 
forester;  and  he  threw  his  purse  on  the  ground  among  a  pile  of 
bows  and  quivers. 

Now  were  the  herd  of  deer  in  full  view  to  all,  led  by  a  lordly 
hart  which,  turning,  seemed  to  sniff  some  danger  in  the  air. 
Then  Robert  took  up  his  great  bow,  deftly  tightened  the  string, 
nocked  his  shaft,  and  drew  it  to  his  ear. 

"Remember,  thou  boaster,  'tis  thy  head  is  wagered,"  cried  one; 
but  Robert's  hand  trembled  not,  nor  did  his  eye  waver. 

Twang!  and  the  broad  goose-feathered  arrow  flew  through  the 
air  like  a  skimming  swallow.  All  the  foresters  bent  forward 

[nj 


ROBIN    HOOD 

eagerly,  for  they  saw  at  once  that  the  lad  was  no  boaster,  3ut  as 
good  an  archer  as  themselves.  The  entire  band  were  struck 
dumb  when  they  beheld  the  great  stag  leap  in  the  air,  drop  to  its 
knees,  and  roll  over  with  the  arrow  clean  through  its  heart. 

"The  wager  is  mine,"  cried  Robert,  "were  it  a  thousand 
pounds."  Then  he  stepped  forward  to  reach  the  purse. 

"Hold!"  thundered  he  who  had  lost  the  wager,  amid  the  angry 
shouts  of  the  foresters.  "The  wager  thou  hast  won  is  the  loss 
of  thy  two  eyes.  Thou  art  an  outlaw,  for  thy  arrow  smote  the 
King's  hart  royal,  and  all  who  do  so  must  die."  Thereupon  they 
moved  forward  to  encircle  the  lad,  who  stood  ready  with  another 
shaft  nocked  to  his  bow-string. 

"Beware!"  said  he.  "He  that  draws  one  step  nigher  shall  die 
like  the  hart." 

Thereupon,  one  of  the  foresters,  who  had  stealthily  crept  be- 
hind him,  leaped  upon  his  back  and  bore  him  to  the  ground  with 
an  arm  about  his  neck. 

"Now,  by  Saint  Dunstan!"  quoth  the  chief,  "this  naughty 
fellow  hath  come  in  happy  time.  Our  good  Sheriff  of  Nottingham 
hath  taken  it  much  amiss  that  we  have  brought  no  deer-stealers 
to  court,  though  many  have  been  killed  from  the  coverts.  He 
hath  twice  hinted  that  our  time  is  spent  in  revels  and  feastings 
beneath  the  greenwood-trees.  This  likely  tale,  forsooth,  will  now 
be  mended." 

At  this  all  laughed,  and  Robert's  heart  sank,  but  he  lay  still, 
biding  his  time.  One  lazy  fellow,  whose  head  was  humming  with 
ale,  spake,  and  said: 

"Marry,  let  us  hang  him  on  yon  tall  tree,  and  so  an  end." 

"Nay,  by  'r  Lady,  we  owe  the  Sheriff  a  prize,"  quoth  the  chief. 

"Ay,  truly,"  said  another.  "We  have  need  of  the  Sheriff's 
good-will.  If  ye  will  do  as  I  rede  you,  let  us  bind  him  up  in  the 
skin  of  the  royal  hart  he  hath  slain  and  sling  him  from  our  shoul- 
ders on  a  stout  oak  limb." 

"Well  said!     That  we  will,"  cried  they  all. 

So  Robert  was  tied  fast,  hand  and  foot,  with  bow-strings,  and 
carried  to  where  the  dead  hart  lay.  When  they  had  stripped 


ROBIN    HOOD 

away  the  hot  skin  with  their  keen  hunting-knives  and  laid  it 
flat  on  the  greensward,  they  rudely  threw  him  upon  it  and  bound 
it  with  thongs  over  his  body,  leaving  naught  uncovered  but  his 
head.  Robert's  blood  boiled,  and  he  struggled  with  might  and 
main  to  loosen  the  bonds  which  cut  and  pained  him  ever  the 
more  as  he  tried  to  free  himself.  Anon  two  strong  fellows  came, 
bearing  a  stout  oak  limb  on  their  shoulders,  to  which  the  shapeless 
bundle  was  tied  with  rawhide  thongs.  Then  they  set  off  through 
the  woodland,  pushing  their  way  amid  thickets  of  young  trees 
and  stumbling  over  rough  ground. 

Robert  was  no  great  burden.  Indeed,  his  body  was  but  a 
plaything;  yet  the  chief  bade  his  men  carry  in  turns,  so  that 
every  one  might  have  a  chance  to  swing  the  living  bundle  from 
side  to  side  against  the  trees  as  they  passed.  Always,  in  changing, 
the  burden-bearers  dropped  their  charge  with  a  heavy  thud  to 
the  ground,  thinking  to  make  him  curse  or  groan.  Much  they 
marveled  that  he  made  no  outcry,  and  some  among  the  band 
whose  hearts  were  softer  than  the  rest  felt  pity  that  a  brave  lad 
should  be  so  abused.  As  for  Robert,  he  set  his  teeth  and  prayed 
inwardly.  How  different,  thought  he,  was  his  present  state  from 
what  it  had  been  on  that  smiling  May  morn!  He,  who  had 
thought  to  be  an  archer  of  the  royal  guard  and  to  die  at  need 
for  country  and  King,  was  to  be  killed  without  mercy  as  a  felon. 
If  the  King  could  only  know  how  his  dastard  foresters  had  lured 
a  faithful  subject  with  their  taunts  to  a  shameful  death,  it  would 
fare  ill  with  these  same  cruel  knaves.  He  bethought  him  again 
and  again  of  the  tottering,  sightless  old  man  of  his  beloved 
Locksley  town,  whose  tale  of  woe  he  had  heard  full  oft.  At  last, 
what  with  the  cramped  and  painful  position  in  which  he  was  tied 
and  the  heat  of  his  body  sweltering  in  the  hide,  his  wits  began  to 
reel.  His  head  dropped  limp  to  one  side  and  he  knew  no  more. 

"Hulloa!"  cried  a  forester,  "we've  rocked  our  baby  to  sleep. 
Come,  wake  up,  my  young  hedgehog."  Then  with  rude  thumps 
they  sought  to  rouse  him,  but  he  awoke  not. 

The  band  had  now  left  the  forest  and  were  treading  the  soft 
green  turf  of  a  meadow  through  which  meandered  a  slow-running 

[IS] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

stream.  Just  beyond  the  distant  trees  rose  a  church  spire  of  a 
village  where  the  foresters  would  doubtless  rest  and  refresh  them- 
selves at  the  White  Hart  Inn.  Drawing  nigh  the  banks  of  the 
stream,  the  foremost  of  the  two  who  bore  the  captive  cried,  "  By 
my  faith,  this  is  a  jolly  place  for  a  bath  to  revive  our  sleepy  young 
blade." 

"Thou  saist  truly,"  quoth  the  other;  and  with  the  words  they 
dipped  their  burden  into  the  stream.  The  cool  water  flowed  over 
Robert's  face  and  eyes,  and  he  struggled,  gasping,  with  dire  fear 
in  his  heart;  for  he  thought  that  now  they  would  drown  him, 
helpless,  bound  hand  and  foot,  like  a  cat  in  a  bag.  But  anon 
they  lifted  him  out,  and  as  he  lay  prone  on  the  bank,  scarce  know- 
ing whether  he  were  alive  or  dead,  he  heard  the  low  voice  of  one 
who  had  before  shown  some  pity  both  by  look  and  word. 

"Nay,  man,'*  said  the  voice,  "there  is  no  need  for  that.  To 
wet  the  burden  will  but  make  it  the  heavier.  Let  Steve  and  me 
take  a  turn." 

"Ay,  truly,  Phil,  our  shoulders  need  a  rest,  and  thou  art  young 
and  lusty." 

So  Phil  called  a  companion,  who  stepped  forward  from  the  band; 
and  Robert's  spirits  rose  to  find  some  semblance  of  gentleness 
among  these  men,  though  truly  he  feared  that  this  might  be  but  a 
trick  to  torment  him  further.  But  his  doubts  soon  fled.  As 
they  moved  along  toward  the  village  his  sharp  ear  caught  whis- 
pered words  between  his  carriers. 

"I'  faith,"  said  one,  "I  am  aweary  of  this  life — hard  words  and 
little  pay!" 

"What  canst  thou  do,  Phil?"  the  other  made  answer. 

"With  thy  good  help,  Steve,  we  can  save  and  avenge  this  brave 
young  lad." 

"Ay,  so  we  might,  but  to  what  end?" 

"Marry,  to  be  free,  to  be  our  own  masters  and  live  a  merry  life 
under  the  greenwood-trees — above  all,  to  save  the  life  of  one 
who  may  prove  to  be  the  best  archer  that  ever  bent  bow." 

These  low-spoken  words  were  sweetest  music  to  Robert,  who 
kept  silent  and  waited  till  the  time  for  action  came.  They  had 

[16] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

now  reached  the  village,  and  were  within  sight  of  the  White  Hart 
Inn.  The  men  were  weary  and  athirst,  and  the  chief  forester, 
nothing  loath,  gave  them  leave  to  rest,  as  they  were  still  some 
distance  from  Nottingham  town.  In  those  days  the  inns  and 
taverns  were  built  with  stables  and  outbuildings  close  to  and 
facing  the  front  entrance,  the  whole  being  entirely  surrounded  by 
a  high  stone  wall,  except  the  big  oaken  gates  which  led  into  the 
small  courtyard.  Into  this  yard  the  troop  of  foresters  filed,  with 
the  prisoner  carried  by  Phil  and  Steve  in  the  rear. 

"Shall  we  unbind  the  lad  to  stretch  his  limbs?"  asked  Steve. 

"No,  thou  scurvy  villain,"  roared  the  chief.  "None  but  the 
Sheriff  shall  do  the  stretching.  Lay  him  in  the  stable  and  guard 
him  well.  But  hark'ee!  We  want  no  dead  prisoner  for  our  noble 
Sheriff,  therefore  put  in  his  craw  some  oaten  cake  and  a  swill  of 
water  the  while  we  quench  our  thirst  with  wine.  Catching  deer- 
stealers  is  dry  work." 

With  that  he  strode  through  the  little  front  door  along  a  short 
passage  into  the  big  public  chamber,  and  the  rest  followed  him. 
In  this  room  sat  two  sturdy  fellows  drinking  ale.  Both  were 
armed,  but  their  clothes  showed  them  to  be  of  the  meaner  sort 
of  folk,  though  one  was  much  the  better  clad.  After  giving  orders 
for  the  best  wine  and  food  the  chief  turned  to  them,  saying: 

"What  news,  good  fellows?" 

"We  know  of  none,  your  honor,  save  the  shooting-match  at 
Nottingham  town  on  the  morrow.  Belike  thou,  too,  goest 
thither." 

"Oh,  we  have  a  saucy  young  rogue  of  a  deer-stealer  to  be  hung 
by  our  pious  Sheriff — ay,  and  the  best  hand  to  shoot  a  shaft  we've 
seen  full  many  a  day." 

Then  the  foresters  sat  down  to  feast  and  sing  a  jolly  lay,  but 
the  two  others  left  the  room.  As  they  crossed  the  yard  Phil 
accosted  them,  crying,  "Good  friend,  wilt  thou  go  within  and  beg 
the  chief  forester  for  a  flagon  of  wine  for  the  men  on  guard  ?" 

"Marry,  that  will  I,"  one  of  the  strangers  made  answer,  and 
straightway  hastened  to  do  as  he  was  bid. 

"Who  is  thy  charge?"  asked  the  other.     Then,  looking  round, 


ROBIN    HOOD 

he  beheld  in  a  corner  the  young  lad  trussed  up  in  the  skin.  At 
that  moment  his  companion  returned  with  the  wine,  whereat 
Robert,  catching  sight  of  them,  cried  out  of  a  sudden,  "It  is  Giles 
and  the  swineherd!" 

"Alack!"  cried  Giles.  "Tell  me  what  thou  hast  done,  beloved 
son  of  my  master,  that  was  so  happy  and  free  this  morn!" 

Then  Phil  and  Steve  saw  their  chance  and  had  hope  of  rescue. 
In  hurried  whispers  the  four  debated. 

"Let  us  haste,  good  comrades,"  said  Giles,  cutting  the  bonds 
with  his  sharp  dagger.  Then  Robert  got  up  from  the  ground 
with  limbs  stiff  and  sore,  yet  ready  to  do  and  dare  any  deed  for 
his  freedom.  A  plan  was  soon  made.  Phil  and  Steve  with 
young  Robert  were  to  run  outside  the  wall  and  through  a  little 
thatched  cottage  into  a  back  garden,  at  the  end  of  which  flowed 
the  stream.  This  stream,  being  too  deep  to  ford,  they  must 
swim,  pitching  across  their  bows  and  quivers  to  keep  them  dry. 
In  the  forest,  but  a  hundred  rods  away,  they  could  make  a  stand 
behind  the  broad  trunks  of  the  friendly  trees,  to  cover  the  escape 
of  Giles  and  the  swineherd  should  they  be  pursued.  Meanwhile, 
Giles  would  quietly  fasten  the  inn  front  door  while  his  com- 
panion locked  the  big  oak  gates  of  the  yard.  Then,  taking  a 
light  ladder  used  to  climb  the  stable  loft  and  placing  it  against  the 
wall,  Giles  would  get  over  and  take  the  ladder  with  him. 

Robert  took  up  his  bow  and  quiver,  which  the  chief  had  meant 
to  put  in  as  evidence,  along  with  the  hide,  before  the  SherifF,  and 
crept  softly  along  the  wall,  Phil  and  Steve  close  behind  him.  He 
had  stoutly  refused  at  first  to  lead  the  way  because  of  the  extra 
risk  to  his  friends.  With  his  long-bow  they  knew  he  was  no  mean 
foe,  but  all  were  in  the  same  plight,  and  he  bent  to  their  desire. 
All  three  were  now  safely  outside  the  yard  gate.  The  swineherd 
softly  closed  it,  turned  the  big  key  round  in  the  lock,  and,  taking 
it  along,  nimbly  climbed  the  ladder.  He  dropped  down  lightly 
upon  the  other  side  and  ran  to  follow  the  leaders. 

In  the  mean  time  Giles  was  in  great  peril  of  his  life,  for  he  knew 
that  as  soon  as  he  closed  the  front  door  the  men  inside  would 
stop  drinking  and  carousing.  In  his  hand  he  held  some  of  the 

[18] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

rawhide  thongs  that  had  bound  Robert,  with  which  he  meant  to 
tie  fast  the  round  iron  handle  to  the  latch.  This,  he  hoped, 
would  give  him  time  to  scale  the  wall.  He  now  pulled  the  door 
— slowly  at  first,  that  the  men  within  might  not  perceive  the 
fading  light  in  the  passage.  It  was  now  half-way;  every  moment 
gave  him  comfort,  for  his  companions  were  getting  farther  and 
farther  away.  He  thought  of  his  dead  master,  whose  orphan  son 
he  wished  to  save,  and  said  to  himself: 

"I  never  yet  did  repent  of  doing  good,  nor  shall  not  now." 

Silently  and  suddenly  he  closed  the  door  and  tied  it  fast. 
Straightway  there  arose  a  terrible  uproar  inside.  The  door  was 
tried,  kicked,  and  banged  amid  cries  and  oaths.  But  the  stout 
rawhide  thongs  held,  and  Giles's  foot  was  on  the  first  rung  of  the 
ladder.  He  heard  the  angry  chief  shout,  above  the  din,  "To  the 
windows,  my  lads!  Shoot  the  traitors  dead!" 

Two  foresters  now  crashed  through  the  windows  into  the  court- 
yard, and  nocked  their  shafts.  The  bow-strings  twanged,  the 
arrows  flew;  but  Giles  was  safe.  He  saw  the  top  of  the  ladder 
pierced  with  arrows  as  it  lay  outside  the  high  wall,  and  as  he  ran 
like  the  wind  down  the  garden  path  he  heard  them  thundering  at 
the  gate,  shut  in  for  the  nonce,  like  rats  in  a  trap.  He  knew  that 
danger  threatened  him  still  as  he  plunged  into  the  stream,  swam 
across,  and  began  to  run  along  the  meadows  toward  the  forest. 
He  heard  a  shout,  and,  turning,  saw  the  swineherd,  who  could  not 
swim,  vainly  searching  a  fording-place.  Whate'er  the  danger, 
Giles  was  not  the  man  to  leave  a  comrade  in  distress.  He  went 
back  again,  crossed  the  stream,  and  then  started  afresh,  swimming 
with  the  swineherd  on  his  back.  Just  as  he  stretched  forth  his 
hand  to  the  bank  he  heard  the  whizz  of  an  arrow  close  by  his 
ear;  another,  shot  by  the  foremost  forester,  struck  with  deadly 
aim  right  at  the  back  of  the  swineherd's  neck,  going  through  at 
the  throat  with  such  force  as  to  pierce  Giles's  shoulder.  With  a 
scream  the  man  tore  the  arrow  from  him,  and  Giles  fell  forward, 
with  his  companion  lying  beside  him  writhing  in  his  last  agony. 

Recking  naught  of  the  danger,  Robert  sprang  forth  from  the 
sheltering  trees,  and  with  set  teeth,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  deadly 

[19] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

marksman,  chose  a  shaft  and  nocked  it  to  the  string.  A  dozen 
arrows  came  sailing  over  the  meadows  toward  him,  but  they  fell 
short  by  full  twenty  rods.  He  hesitated,  standing  there  alone, 
with  the  bow  half  raised.  He  doubted  not  the  trueness  of  his 
aim  nor  the  strength  of  his  bow,  though  the  distance  was  great. 
Never  before  in  all  his  happy  boyhood  had  he  wished  for  any 
man's  death;  yet  the  cruel  treatment  he  had  lately  undergone 
from  the  very  man  who  was  now  his  target,  hardened,  for  the 
moment,  a  naturally  tender  heart  and  burned  to  tinder  all  ves- 
tiges of  forgiveness.  As  he  thought  how  shamefully  they  had  dealt 
with  him,  and  how  this  very  man  had  slain  one  of  his  friends, 
his  face  flushed  with  anger.  He  lifted  his  bow,  drawing  the 
shaft  to  its  head.  For  a  bare  instant  he  hung  at  full  stretch. 
Then  with  a  loud  twang  the  arrow  sped.  The  chief,  raising  both 
arms,  howled  like  a  wolf,  leaped  forward,  and  fell  flat  on  his  face 
to  the  earth,  with  the  arrow  right  through  his  heart. 

The  whole  band  of  foresters  were  thunderstruck.  Helpless  to 
do  aught  against  the  young  archer  who  so  easily  overshot  them, 
they  turned  and  fled,  leaving  their  chief  in  his  dying  struggles 
on  the  ground.  Steve  and  Phil  now  came  from  the  forest,  where 
they  had  waited,  well  assured  that  the  lad  would  outshoot  his 
pursuers.  All  three  ran  to  the  river-bank  to  succor  Giles  and 
the  swineherd.  Giles,  who  had  but  a  glancing  flesh-wound  on  his 
shoulder,  had  climbed  up  the  bank  and  lay  quite  still,  deeming  that 
the  foresters  would  think  him  dead.  Robert  then  turned  to  the 
swineherd,  whose  lifeless  body  lay  rigid  in  a  pool  of  blood  that  had 
run  from  his  throat,  his  mild  blue  eyes  wide  open.  The  sun  had 
gone  down  in  a  blaze  of  glorious  gold.  The  sky  began  to 
redden  and  turned  to  a  cold  purple  gray.  The  long  evening 
twilight  had  fallen.  The  moon  and  stars  would  soon  be  their 
only  lamps. 

Robert  was  sad  at  heart,  and  repented  him  sore  of  what  he  had 
done.  With  all  his  shooting  he  had  never  bethought  him  that 
he  might  as  easily  kill  a  man  as  a  stag.  He  knew  that  men  slew 
and  were  slain  in  fair  fight,  but  the  thought  that  he  had  taken  a 
life  was  very  bitter  to  him.  As  he  watched  his  companions 

[20] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

tenderly  carry  away  the  limp,  lifeless  form  that  but  an  hour  before 
had  been  so  strong  and  lusty  he  wept  and  repeated  time  and  again, 
"I,  too,  have  killed  a  man."  What  the  cruel  chief  had  done,  the 
crafty  wager,  the  taunts  at  his  skill  and  his  youth,  the  unfeeling 
wish  to  win  the  Sheriff's  favor  through  his  torture,  finally,  the 
slaying  of  one  of  his  generous  rescuers — all  these  seemed  now  but 
poor  excuses  for  his  deed.  So,  though  he  had  killed  in  hot  blood 
and  in  defence  of  his  life,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  would  never 
again  be  blithe  and  care-free. 

Sadly  and  silently  they  laid  the  body  of  the  swineherd  in  the 
crevice  of  a  rock  and  covered  it  with  branches  of  oak,  intending 
to  return  later  and  bury  it.  Each  one  muttered  a  prayer  and 
turned  away.  Then,  taking  a  path  that  led  right  into  the  depths 
of  the  forest,  they  were  soon  lost  to  view  in  the  gathering  darkness 
of  the  night. 


III 


ROBIN   THE    OUTLAW 

Come  listen  to  me,  you  gallants  so  free, 
All  you  that  love  mirth  for  to  hear; 

And  I  will  tell  you  of  a  bold  outlaw 
Who  lived  in  Nottinghamshire. 

rIVE  years  flew  by,  and  Robert  dwelt  as  an 
outlaw  in  the  forest;  but  he  no  longer  called 
himself  Robert  Fitzooth.  Men  knew  him  as 
Robin  Hood.  He  was  now  twenty  years  old, 
i  scarce  taller  than  of  yore,  but,  from  a  slight, 
thin  sapling  of  a  youth,  he  had  developed  into 
'  a  man  broad  of  shoulder  and  deep  of  chest,  with 
arms  and  legs  of  solid  brawn  and  sinew.  His  hands  and  face  were 
now 'deeply  bronzed,  and  he  had  a  short  curly  beard  and  a  mus- 
tache of  auburn  red.  Truly,  he  was  a  young  man  goodly  to  look 
upon,  clad  from  head  to  foot  in  Lincoln  green. 

We  last  saw  him  and  his  companions  cover  the  dead  swineherd 
with  leaves,  and  march,  sad-hearted,  into  the  deep  forest.  They 
knew  full  well  that  they  must  put  many  a  mile  betwixt  them  and 
the  foresters,  for  when  the  Sheriff  learned  of  what  had  happened 
he  would  set  men  and  dogs  upon  their  tracks.  Then  rewards 
would  be  offered  to  any  who  should  make  them  captive  and  bring 

[22] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

them,  alive  or  dead,  to  the  court  of  the  King.  So  they  hasted 
through  the  forest,  going  northward,  guided  by  the  stars  now 
faintly  gleaming.  Anon  darkness  came  upon  them,  but  by  good- 
fortune  they  espied  before  them  a  charcoal-burner's  hut,  where 
they  lay  down  and  rested  for  the  night.  Before  sunset  of  the 
next  day  they  had  reached  Barnesdale  Forest  in  Yorkshire,  and 
here  they  dwelt  awhile  in  peace,  far  away  from  the  Sheriff  and 
his  men. 

At  this  time  King  Henry  had  marched  to  the  north  with  a 
great  array  to  quell  the  Scotch  Rebellion,  and  all  four  men  joined 
the  ranks  as  archers.  Then,  quitting  the  army,  they  journeyed 
north  again  to  Plompton  Forest,  in  Cumberland,  where  they  bided 
for  a  space.  King  Henry  was  greatly  troubled  by  the  disobe- 
dience of  his  sons,  Earl  Henry  and  Richard,  and  his  mind  was  ill 
at  ease  after  the  murder  of  Becket.  That  he  might  in  some  sort 
atone  for  it  he  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Canterbury,  and  there 
allowed  himself  to  be  scourged  with  a  knotted  cord  by  the  priests. 
He  spent  a  night  in  a  dark  crypt,  and  the  next  day  rode,  fasting, 
to  London,  where  he  fell  ill  of  a  fever. 

At  length  Robin  and  his  band  became  aweary  of  the  cold 
northern  winters  and  longed  for  their  old  haunts  and  companions. 
So  they  agreed  to  go  back  to  the  warmer  lowlands.  They  had 
many  adventures  and  narrow  escapes  by  the  way,  but,  keeping 
together  in  fair  weather  and  foul,  they  made  their  way  into 
Nottinghamshire  and  halted  on  the  borders  of  Sherwood  Forest 
hard  by  Newstead  Abbey.  Choosing  a  trysting-place  surrounded 
by  boggy  land,  with  one  narrow  safe  path  leading  from  a  clump 
of  hazel  bushes,  they  sallied  forth  in  search  of  food  and  drink  and 
other  things  of  which  they  had  need. 

The  little  band  was  moving  slowly  along  down  a  hillside. 
Though  it  was  early  in  the  day,  yet  was  it  hot  and  sultry. 

"We  shall  have  a  storm  before  sundown,"  said  one. 

"Ay,"  quoth  Giles,  "and  a  heavy  one,  too,  methinks." 

While  they  spoke  thus  Robin  said  of  a  sudden:  "Listen,  com- 
rades, there  are  strangers  near  by.  I  hear  a  lusty  voice." 

Standing  still,  they  waited,  listening,  for  they  could  see  naught 
[23  1 


ROBIN    HOOD 

through  the  maze  of  leafy  trees.  Anon  they  heard  a  loud  voice 
close  at  hand.  Robin  led  the  way  toward  the  sound,  carefully 
treading  the  soft  sward  and  hiding  behind  the  trees.  Soon  they 
espied  a  group  of  foresters  seated,  with  their  backs  to  them, 
beneath  a  chestnut-tree,  to  which  were  bound  two  captives. 
They  had  often  wished  to  add  some  stout  followers  to  their  com- 
pany, and  here,  it  seemed,  was  a  chance.  But  how  were  they  to 
free  the  captives?  They  agreed  to  bide  until  the  two  men  were 
cut  loose;  so,  lying  down  flat  on  the  ground,  each  kept  his  eye 
fixed  upon  the  scene  before  them.  At  last  they  grew  weary. 

"Phil,"  quoth  Robin,  "do  thou  steal  round  to  yon  tall  elm  and 
climb  among  its  thick-branching  leaves,  then  cry  out,  'Help! 
Murder!'  Then  moan  softly,  while  I  creep  along  the  other  way 
nigh  unto'  the  captives." 

Anon  the  cry  was  heard  loud  and  clear  in  the  silent  woodland, 
and  the  foresters  all  started  to  their  feet  and  ran  forward,  sore 
astonished,  not  knowing  whence  the  sound  came.  Robin  saw  his 
chance  as  they  rushed  forth.  Nimbly  he  sped  toward  the  cap- 
tives' tree  and  cut  the  thongs  with  his  sharp  dagger,  saying, 
"Come  quickly  to  freedom." 

Giles  and  Ste've,  making  a  wide  turn,  joined  them,  and  together 
they  were  soon  out  of  the  foresters'  sight  and  hearing,  and  back  to 
their  chosen  meeting-place.  All  were  agreed  that  Phil  was  safe 
up  in  his  tree.  Yet,  as  the  day  wore  on,  their  hearts  misgave 
them.  Just  as  they  were  planning  to  return  in  search  of  their 
comrade  the  storm  burst  forth  in  torrents  of  rain,  with  thunder 
and  lightning.  When  it  had  passed  they  saw  Phil  come  trudging 
along  the  little  path  over  the  bogs. 

"Marry!     Here  am  I,"  quoth  Phil. 

"Right  welcome  thou  art.  Tell  us,  good  comrade,  what  hath 
befallen  thee." 

So  they  sat  down  in  merry  humor  to  listen. 

"Well,"  began  Phil,  "when  I  had  hid  me  in  the  tree,  I  shouted. 
Up  rose  the  band,  taking  up  their  quarter-staffs  and  nocking 
their  shafts  as  they  rushed  down.  I  was  well  covered,  and  they 
saw  me  not,  but  when  they  had  beaten  the  woods  well,  yet  found 

[24! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

no  sign  of  a  living  soul,  I  heard  one  say,  '  Tis  the  foul  fiend,  and 
some  one  of  us  must  surely  die/  'Nay,'  quoth  another,  'it  was 
the  cry  of  a  man  in  sore  distress.  Then  a  third  cried  out,  'The 
foul  fiend  is  truly  about  us.  See!  our  prisoners  have  dropped 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.'  Forthwith  they  scampered  back 
to  find  the  hole  where  the  fiend  had  taken  the  captives,  yet  they 
saw  naught  but  the  broken  thongs.  Then  it  behooved  me  to  cry 
again  to  draw  them  away  from  following  in  thy  tracks.  So  back 
they  came  to  the  tree,  more  bewildered  than  ever.  Oh !  how  sore 
I  pined  to  send  a  shaft  among  their  addled  pates,  but  that  would 
end  me,  quoth  I.  With  that  the  storm  broke,  and  off  they  trudged 
through  the  rain  to  Nottingham  town  in  sorry  plight.  But  I  lay 
still,  snug  and  dry,  till  the  rain  stopped.  Then  down  I  came  right 
gladly  from  my  bower,  and  straightway  came  hither.  An  my 
eyes  be  not  crooked  and  a-squint,  ye  have  stout  Tom  Lee  and 
Dick  the  Draper  among  you." 

"Ay,  here  we  are  safe  and  sound,  thanks  to  thee  and  thy  friends. 
Right  glad  are  we  to  meet  so  stout  a  band,"  quoth  Dick. 

Then  said  Robin,  "It  were  well  that  these  two  lusty  fellows,  an 
it  please  them,  should  join  with  us." 

Thereupon  Tom  Lee  and  Dick  the  Draper  looked  at  each  other 
and  smiled. 

"Nay,  rather,"  quoth  Dick,  "come  ye  with  me,  for  to  say 
sooth  we  belong  to  a  band  of  merry  outlaws,  as  stout  as  ever  drew 
bow,  who  dwell  under  the  greenwood-trees  in  Sherwood  Forest." 

"No  better  life  do  I  crave,"  quoth  Robin,  "than  to  be  an  out- 
law in  the  green  forest  with  brave  and  true  men  for  comrades." 

So  they  all  followed  Dick,  who  guided  them  through  the  path- 
less forest  half  a  score  of  miles.  Robin  thought,  as  he  strode 
along,  that  an  outlaw's  life  had  not  been  his  choice,  but  it  had 
been  forced  upon  him,  willy-nilly.  A  price  was  on  his  head,  and 
he  must  either  lose  it  or  follow  the  life  his  comrades  offered.  Such 
a  life  need  not  be  one  of  rapine  and  murder.  He  thereupon  made 
a  vow  to  do  good  deeds,  so  far  as  lay  in  his  power.  And  that  vow 
he  kept  through  many  a  long  year  of  forest  life. 

Dick  led  them  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  forest,  and  at 
[27! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

last  they  reached  a  small  clearing  of  softest  greensward,  in  the 
midst  of  which  on  a  little  hummock  rose  the  trunk  of  a  giant 
oak,  hollowed  out  in  the  center,  so  that  there  was  room  within 
for  a  dozen  stout  yeomen  to  lie  hid.  In  the  hollow  was  a  trap- 
door on  the  ground,  which  led  by  steps  along  a  passage  to  the 
outlaws'  treasure-store.  At  the  back  of  the  tree  was  a  huge  stone 
round  tower  with  walls  six  feet  thick — the  remains  of  a  Roman 
temple.  It  lacked  both  doors  and  windows,  so  that  none  might 
enter  save  by  the  trap.  Another  passage  led  from  the  treasure- 
store  back  to  an  outlet,  in  the  forest,  covered  over  by  thick 
bushes. 

A  group  of  outlaws  sitting  and  lying  in  the  shade  raised  a  shout 
of  welcome  to  see  their  companions  return  safely  with  new  friends. 
Then  Dick  and  Tom  told  how  they  had  been  rescued  from  the 
foresters  and  who  had  done  it.  Robin  Hood's  skill  as  an  archer 
was  well  known  to  them,  and  there  was  none  in  that  country 
who  thought  not  the  better  of  him  because  he  had  put  an  end 
to  the  chief  forester's  brutal  deeds.  Dick  wound  his  horn 
to  draw  the  whole  band  together  under  the  tree,  and  thus  ad- 
dressed them: 

"  Brother  outlaws,  so  far  we  have  done  well  and  worked  to- 
gether without  fear  or  favor  in  this  our  happy  life.  But  I  say  we 
need  and  must  have  a  captain  and  leader — one  that  is  bold  and 
the  best  archer  in  merry  England.  Therefore  let  us  straightway 
set  up  a  target,  and  he  that  shall  prove  the  best  marksman  with 
gray-goose  shaft,  let  him  be  our  chief." 

"Well  said!"  cried  they  all;  and  straightway  they  set  up  a 
target  against  a  tree  a  hundred  rods  away. 

"Nay,"  quoth  Robin  Hood,  "that  target  is  no  test  of  an 
archer's  skill.  Let  me  place  a  target  that  is  worthy  of  a  stout 
bowman." 

"That  is  but  fair,"  cried  the  yeomen. 

So  Robin  cut  a  six-foot  hazel  wand,  set  it  upon  the  soft  earth, 
and  hung  from  it  a  garland  of  wild  roses. 

"The  archer,"  cried  Robin,  "who  sends  his  cloth-yard  shaft 
through  yon  fair  garland  and  touches  not  flower  nor  leaf  at  two 

[28] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

hundred  rods  away  I  call  him  worthy  to  be  captain  of  this  merry 
band."  At  that  there  fell  a  silence,  and  none  stepped  forward 
to  make  the  test. 

"If  none  other  will  shoot  at  this  mark,"  quoth  Dick  the 
Draper,  "do  thou,  good  Robin,  show  our  comrades  what  thou 
canst  do." 

Then  Robin  stepped  forth  with  his  great  long-bow,  nocked  a 
shaft,  and  shot  it  clear  through  the  garland  so  that  neither  leaf 
nor  flower  quivered  so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth. 

"Do  it  again,"  cried  Dick,  "that  it  may  seem  to  all  no  false 
shot." 

"Ay!"  quoth  Robin,  "and  thrice  again  shall  my  arrow  speed." 

And  thus  it  was  that  Robin  Hood,  amid  jocund  shouts,  became 
the  captain  of  the  merry  band  of  outlaws  in  Sherwood  Forest. 
The  fivescore  outlaws  seated  themselves  beneath  the  branches 
of  the  great  oak,  and  Robin  spake  unto  them. 

"My  merry  men,  all,"  quoth  he,  "as  your  captain  and  sworn 
leader  I  pray  you  to  join  me  in  a  vow  to  spoil  only  our  op- 
pressors— sheriff  or  Norman  baron,  prior  or  abbot,  knight  or 
squire,  any  and  all  who  grind  and  rob  the  poor.  From  such  only 
will  we  take  to  help  those  who  are  needy,  but  to  helpless  women 
or  children  we  will  do  no  scathe." 

Up  rose  the  band  with  one  accord  and  swore  to  obey  and  keep 
the  vow.  Then  they  fell  to  work  to  make  ready  a  great  feast, 
and  the  next  fourteen  days  were  set  apart  for  feasting  and  merry 
sports.  With  wrestling-matches,  bouts  at  quarter-staff,  archery 
contests,  bowling  on  the  green  turf,  high  jumping,  and  pole-leap- 
ing, the  time  passed  blithely. 


IV 


ROBIN   HOOD    FIGHTS    LITTLE    JOHN     . 

When  Robin  Hood  was  about  twenty  years  old, 

With  a  hey  down,  down,  and  a  down; 
He  happened  to  meet  Little  John, 
A  jolly  brisk  blade,  right  fit  for  the  trade; 
For  he  was  a  lusty  young  man. 

IT  last  the  great  feast  and  merry  sports  were 
done.  Then  Robin  said  to  his  jolly  bowmen : 
"This  day  I  mean  to  fare  forth  to  seek  ad- 
ventures. Mayhap  I  shall  find  some  tall 
knight  or  fat  abbot  with  an  overfull  purse." 
Picking  out  a  few  followers,  he  said  to  the 
rest:  "Pray  tarry,  my  merry  men,  in  this  our 
grove,  and  see  that  ye  heed  well  my  call,  for  should  I  be  hard 
bestead  I  will  sound  three  blasts  on  my  horn,  and  then  ye  shall 
know  that  I  am  in  dire  need.  So  come  to  help  me  with  all 
speed." 

So  saying,  he  wended  his  way  with  those  he  had  chosen,  to  the 
outskirts  of  Sherwood  Forest.  At  last  they  came  to  a  meadow 
hard  by  a  village,  through  which  flowed  a  stream,  little  but 
deep. 

"Bide  here,  my  lads,"  quoth  Robin,  "behind  these  trees,  while 
[32] 


PRITHEE,  GOOD  FELLOW,  WHERE  ART  THOU  NOW?" 


ROBIN    HOOD 

I  go  forth  to  meet  yon  tall  fellow  whom  I  see  stalking  forth  this 
way." 

So  Robin  started  toward  a  long,  narrow  bridge  made  of  a  huge, 
flattened  tree-trunk  that  spanned  the  brook.  Now  it  chanced 
that  both  he  and  the  stranger  set  foot  upon  the  bridge  at  the  same 
instant.  They  eyed  each  other  up  and  down,  and  Robin  said 
to  himself,  "This  tall,  lusty  blade  would  be  a  proper  man  for 
our  band,  for  he  stands  nigh  seven  foot  high,  and  hath  a  mighty 
frame."  Then,  to  test  if  the  fellow's  valor  were  equal  to  his 
height,  bold  Robin  sturdily  stood  and  said:  "Get  off  the  bridge 
and  give  way.  Dost  thou  not  see  there's  no  room  for  both  to 
cross?" 

"Get  off  thyself,  thou  saucy  knave,  or  I'll  baste  thy  hide  with 
my  staff,"  the  stranger  replied. 

Then  Robin  drew  from  his  quiver  a  long,  straight  shaft  and 
fitted  it  to  his  bow-string. 

"Thou  pratest  like  an  ass,"  quoth  he.  "Ere  thou  couldst 
strike  me  one  blow  I  could  send  this  goose-winged  shaft  through 
thy  heart." 

"None  but  a  base  coward  would  shoot  at  my  breast  while  I 
have  naught  but  a  staff  in  my  hand  to  reach  thee." 

At  this  Robin  lowered  his  bow  and  thrust  the  shaft  back  into 
the  quiver.  "I  scorn  thee,"  he  said,  "as  I  do  the  name  of  a 
coward,  and  to  prove  that  I  fear  thee  not  let  me  lay  by  my  long- 
bow and  choose  a  tough  staff  of  ground-oak  from  yonder  thicket. 
Then  here  upon  this  narrow  bridge  we  will  fight,  and  whosoever 
shall  be  doused  in  the  brook  shall  own  himself  beaten." 

The  tall  stranger  replied,  "That  suits  me  full  well  to  a  dot, 
and  here  will  I  abide  till  thou  comest." 

Then  bold  Robin  strode  off  to  the  thicket,  where  he  cut  and 
trimmed  a  trusty,  knotted  six-foot  staff.  Sooth  to  say,  the  more 
he  looked  upon  the  stranger  the  less  he  relished  coming  to  blows 
with  him,  for  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  sturdier  knave. 
None  the  less  he  stepped  upon  the  bridge  and  began  to  flourish 
his  staff  above  his  head  right  bravely.  With  watchful  eyes  and 
careful  tread  both  stepped  forward  till  they  met  in  the  middle. 

[351 


ROBIN    HOOD 

In  a  trice  Robin  gave  the  stranger  a  crack  on  his  broad  neck 
that  made  his  bones  ring  like  stones  in  a  tin  can;  but  he  was 
as  tough  as  he  was  big,  and  he  said  naught  but,  "One  good  turn 
deserves  another."  With  that  he  whirled  his  great  staff  faster 
and  faster,  bringing  it  down  on  Robin's  guard  with  such  a  rain 
of  blows  that  one  would  think  twenty  men  were  at  it.  Both 
played  so  rapidly  and  the  blows  were  so  deftly  struck  that  neither 
one  after  half  an  hour's  battle  seemed  to  gain  a  whit.  Robin 
tried  all  his  skill  in  parrying  and  feinting,  but  he  could  do  no  more 
than  give  the  stranger  a  whack  on  his  ribs  and  shoulder  which 
only  made  him  grunt.  As  he  began  to  grow  weary  the  other 
laid  on  the  faster,  so  that  Robin's  jacket  smoked  with  many  a 
thwack  and  he  felt  as  if  he  were  on  fire. 

At  last  he  got  a  crack  on  the  crown  that  caused  the  blood  to 
flow  down  his  cheek,  but  he  only  fought  the  more  fiercely  and 
pressed  on  so  hard  that  the  stranger  slipped  and  nigh  fell  over. 
But  he  regained  his  footing,  and  with  a  furious  onslaught  he 
brought  his  staff  down  with  such  tremendous  force  that  he 
smashed  Robin's  staff  into  smithers  and  toppled  him  with  a  great 
splash  full  on  his  back  into  the  brook. 

"Prithee,  good  fellow,  where  art  thou  now?"  quoth  the  stranger. 

"Good  faith,  in  the  flood,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  floating  along 
with  the  tide." 

Thereupon  he  waded  the  stream  and  pulled  himself  up  on  the 
bank  by  an  overhanging  branch.  He  sat  him  down,  wet  to 
the  skin,  and  laughingly  cried,  "My  brave  soul,  thou  hast  won 
the  bout,  and  I'll  no  longer  fight  with  thee."  So  saying,  he  set  his 
horn  to  his  lips  and  blew  a  loud  blast,  whereat  the  stout  yeomen 
came  running  forth  from  behind  the  trees. 

"Oh,  what  is  the  matter,  good  master?"  they  cried.  "Thou 
art  as  wet  as  a  drown'd  rat." 

"Matter  or  no  matter,"  quoth  Robin,  "yon  tall  fellow  hath  in 
fighting  tumbled  me  into  the  brook." 

"Seize  him,  comrades,  for  in  the  brook  he  shall  likewise  go 
to  cool  his  hot  spirit,"  said  one. 

"Nay,  nay,  forbear,"  cried  Robin,  "he  is  a  stout  fellow.  They 
[36] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

shall  do  thee  no  harm,  my  tall  friend.  These  bowmen  are  my 
followers,  with  three  score  and  nine  others,  and  if  thou  wilt,  my 
jolly  blade,  thou  shalt  join  us  and  be  my  good  right-hand  man. 
Three  good  suits  of  Lincoln  green  shalt  thou  have  each  year  and 
a  full  share  in  all  we  take.  We'll  teach  thee  to  shoot  the  fat 
fallow  deer,  and  thou  shalt  eat  sweet  venison  steak  whene'er 
thou  wilt,  washed  down  with  foaming  ale.  What  saist  thou, 
sweet  chuck?" 

The  stranger  replied,  "Here  is  my  hand  on't,  and  with  my 
whole  heart  will  I  serve  so  bold  a  leader,  for  no  man  living  doubt- 
eth  that  I,  John  Little,  can  play  my  part  with  the  best.  But  on 
one  condition  will  I  join  your  band." 

"And  what  may  that  be?"  quoth  Robin. 

"It  is  that  ye  show  me  an  archer  who  can  mend  a  shot  I  shall 
shoot  with  stout  long-bow  and  arrow." 

"Well,  thou  shalt  shoot,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  we  will  mend  thy 
shot  if  we  may."  So  saying,  he  went  and  cut  a  willow  wand 
about  the  thickness  of  a  man's  thumb  and,  peeling  off  the  skin, 
set  it  up  before  a  tree  fivescore  paces  away.  "Now,"  quoth  he, 
"do  thou  choose  a  bow  to  thy  liking  from  among  all  my  men, 
and  let  us  see  thy  skill." 

"That  will  I,  blithely,"  quoth  John.  Choosing  the  stoutest 
bow  and  straightest  arrow  he  could  find  among  a  group  lying  on 
the  sward,  he  took  most  careful  aim,  pulling  the  arching  bow  to 
its  utmost  stretch.  The  arrow  flew,  and  lodged  with  its  point 
right  through  the  wand.  "A  brave  shot!"  cried  the  archers  all. 

"Canst  thou  mend  that,  bold  outlaw?"  asked  John. 

"I  cannot  mend  the  shot,  but  I'll  noch  thy  shaft  in  twain." 
So  saying,  Robin  took  his  bow,  put  on  a  new  string,  and  chose  a 
perfect,  straight  arrow  with  gray  goose  feathers  truly  tied.  Then, 
bending  the  great  bow,  he  let  fly  the  shaft.  For  a  moment  the 
archers  watched,  breathless;  then,  with  shouts  of  glee,  they  saw 
the  stranger's  arrow  split  fairly  in  twain. 

"Enough,"  quoth  John.  "Never  before  have  I  seen  so  true 
an  eye  guide  a  shaft.  Now  I  know  an  archer  fit  to  serve." 

All  cried  out  that  he  had  said  well,  and  then  in  right  merry 
[39] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

mood  they  started  back  to  their  forest  home,  there  to  feast  and 
christen  their  new  comrade.  The  rest  of  the  outlaw  band  gave 
them  a  joyful  welcome,  and  soon  brought  in  a  brace  of  fat  does 
roasted  to  a  nut-brown  color,  with  casks  of  humming  strong  ale. 
When  all  were  seated  'neath  the  friendly  shade  of  the  great  oak, 
Robin  placed  John  beside  him,  and  they  all  feasted  to  their  hearts' 
content,  with  song  and  merry  jest,  and  oft  Robin  told  the  tale 
of  the  great  fight  on  the  bridge. 

"And  now,  my  jolly  companions,  let  us  have  the  christening," 
quoth  he,  at  last. 

So  they  made  big  John  sit  down,  and  seven  archers  formed  in  a 
circle  round  him.  Then  a  bald-headed  yeoman  offered  to  act 
the  part  of  priest.  He  came  forth  holding  up  a  tankard  of  ale,  and 
asked : 

"What  name  shall  we  call  this  pretty  sweet  babe?" 

As  no  one  spake,  he  answered  himself. 

"This  infant,"  quoth  he,  "was  called  John  Little,  but  that  name 
we  shall  change  anon.  Henceforth,  wherever  he  goes,  not  John 
Little,  but  Little  John  shall  he  be  called." 

The  liquor  was  then  poured  over  John's  head,  trickling  down 
his  face;  and  so  they  baptized  him.  With  shouts  of  laughter  that 
made  the  forest  ring,  in  which  Little  John  merrily  joined,  the 
christening  came  to  an  end  with  sweet  song  and  jocund  jest. 

Then  Robin  took  Little  John  to  the  treasure  chamber  and  gave 
him  a  suit  of  Lincoln  green  and  a  great  bow  of  yew. 


WILL   GAMWELL    BECOMES   WILL   SCARLET 

IGHT  glad  was  Robin  Hood  that  he  had 
gotten  so  bold  and  trusty  a  blade  for  his  com- 
rade. He  wanted  no  braver  friend  to  stand 
beside  him  in  fight,  nor  merrier  heart  to  play 
and  feast  withal.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  merry 
men,  they  loved  Little  John  well,  and  all 
I  stood  in  awe  of  his  great  strength.  For  in  the 
whole  band  was  none  that  might  withstand  him  in  a  bout  with 
the  quarter-staff,  nor,  saving  only  Robin,  was  there  such  another 
archer  in  all  the  land.  So  Little  John  became  Robin's  right- 
hand  man,  and  they  loved  each  other  like  brothers.  Such  a  pair 
of  bold  spirits  were  equal  to  a  troop,  and  in  sooth  the  King's  men, 
knowing  full  well  the  outlaws'  strength  and  the  deadly  aim  of 
their  shafts,  wisely  kept  many  miles  away  from  their  trysting- 
place. 

Of  hiding-places  Robin  had  full  many,  scattered  far  and  wide, 
which  his  men  found  as  they  went  back  and  forth  through  the 
forest.  Whenever  they  chanced  upon  a  fit  place,  were  it  cave  or 
bower,  Robin  called  the  band  together,  and  all  fell  to  work  with  a 
will,  clearing  and  building,  to  make  a  forest  home  good  for  winter 
or  summer.  None  molested  them,  for  their  name  and  fame  were 

[41] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

known  throughout  the  land,  and  most  people  thought  it  best  to 
keep  to  the  great  highway  or  little  lanes  between  the  towns  and 
villages  rather  than  to  journey  through  the  forest  with  a  chance  of 
being  robbed  for  their  pains.  Moreover,  the  country-folk  held 
Robin  in  high  esteem,  for  they  knew  him  to  be  the  friend  of  the 
poor. 

It  happened  one  day  at  noontide  that  Robin  called  to  Little 
John  and  said:  "Our  larder  is  low.  We  will  together  seek  to  re- 
plenish it.  To  Ermine  Street  we  will  go,  for,  peradventure,  we 
may  meet  with  some  fat  abbot  or  mayhap  a  stout  foe.  Do  thou 
get  thy  trusty  staff,  and  I  will  don  my  sword  and  buckler  in  case 
of  need."  So  with  their  good  long-bows  hanging  at  their  sides 
they  started  off  through  the  forest.  Anon  they  came  to  a  path 
which  led  to  a  lane  that  went  curving  up  to  a  hill,  at  the  top  of 
which  stood  the  castle  walls  of  a  neighboring  knight. 

Quoth  Little  John,  "Look  who  cometh  down  the  lane." 

"Marry,"  quoth  Robin,  "a  gay  spark,  indeed!  Truly  his 
raiment  is  of  so  hot  a  color,  methinks  there  is  danger  he  may  set 
the  woods  afire." 

The  stranger  wore  a  doublet  of  silk,  and  hose  of  bright  scarlet; 
he  carried  a  long-bow,  with  a  sword  and  buckler  at  his  side. 
Glancing  from  side  to  side  as  he  came,  he  perceived  down  a 
narrow  woodland  path  a  herd  of  deer  leisurely  pass  by.  Robin 
and  Little  John  watched  him  as  he  quickly  bent  his  long-bow  and 
slew  the  best  of  all  the  herd  at  forty  rods  away. 

"He  shooteth  fair  enough,"  quoth  Robin.  "Yet  by  'r  Lady, 
I  like  not  these  gaudy  popinjays.  Do  thou,  good  comrade,  hide 
behind  yon  thicket  while  I  step  forth  and  speak  him  fair." 

With  that  Little  John  strode  away  to  hide;  and  Robin  marched 
up  to  the  stranger,  who  now  stood  bending  over  the  great  hart 
lying  dead  at  his  feet. 

"Marry,"  quoth  Robin,  "who  gave  thee  leave  to  kill  the  deer 
in  this  forest  ?" 

The  scarlet  stranger  turned  not  aside  and  answered  never  a 
word.  Again  Robin  spake. 

"How  now,  gay  spark,  art  thou  dumb?" 
[42! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"And  what  is  that  to  thee,  good  fellow?  Pass  on.  I  have  no 
need  of  thee,  and  I  like  not  thy  clattering  tongue.  Go  thy  ways 
whence  thou  earnest." 

This  answer  nettled  Robin  and  stirred  his  blood,  for  the  fellow 
spoke  insolently  as  to  one  beneath  him.  "Marry,  come  up," 
quoth  Robin.  "  It  is  my  wont  to  take  toll  of  all  who  come  this 
way.  Therefore  thou  shalt  either  give  me  thy  purse  or  else  thou 
shalt  not  pass." 

"And  who  art  thou  that  dost  threat  me  so  boldly?"  sneeringly 
asked  the  stranger. 

"I  am  the  King  of  Sherwood  Forest,  and  all  in  these  parts  do 
obey  me." 

"Nay,  good  friend,  king  or  no  king,  I  care  not  for  thee  or  for 
aught  that  thou  canst  do.  Therefore,  pass  on,  unless  perchance 
thou  cravest  a  buffet  of  my  fists." 

At  these  words  Robin  cried,  "Were  I  to  blow  my  horn  I  have 
those  who  would  help  me  to  make  thee  do  whatever  I  wish." 

"Ah!  then,"  replied  the  stranger,  "with  my  good  broadsword 
would  I  put  to  flight  a-many  such  as  thee."  With  that  the  gaily 
dressed  fellow  disdainfully  turned  his  back  and  bent  down,  feeling 
the  antler's  prongs.  He  seemed  to  think  that  Robin  had  gone. 

Then,  to  make  a  test  of  this  outwardly  brave  show,  Robin  drew 
his  bow,  pointing  the  shaft  straight  on  the  stranger's  heart. 

"How  now,  thou  villain,"  cried  the  other,  "what  woulds't 
thou?" 

"By  Saint  Dunstan,"  quoth  Robin,  angrily,  "I  would  take  thy 
purse,  and  make  thee  pay  toll  for  that  saucy  tongue  of  thine." 

"Ah,  well,  as  to  that,  take  it  and  welcome."  Then,  making 
believe  to  unlace  his  pouch,  he  quickly  got  his  long-bow  before 
him  and  stood  boldly  facing  Robin  with  his  shaft  pointed  to  kill. 

" Hold !  Hold  thy  hand !"  exclaimed  Robin.  " It  were  vain  for 
both  to  shoot  and  each  to  slay  the  other.  I  have  a  mind  that  one 
should  be  the  victor.  Let  us  take  our  broadsword  and  bucklers 
and  under  yon  tree  try  which  of  us  be  the  better  man." 

"As  I  hope  to  be  saved."  quoth  the  stranger,  "I  will  not  flee 
one  foot." 

[43] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

No  sooner  were  the  words  spoken  than  they  strode  off  to  a  level 
sward  under  the  branches  of  a  beech-tree.  Both  calmly  made 
ready  for  battle,  each  fastening  his  buckler  upon  his  left  arm. 
Soon  they  were  wielding  their  broad  blades  with  a  right  good 
will,  and  the  woods  rang  with  the  sound  as  sword  clashed  on 
shield.  As  the  fight  grew  hot  each  perceived  in  the  other  a  tough 
and  skilful  foe.  With  a  keen  eye  Robin  watched  the  stranger, 
who  guarded  himself  well,  warding  off  many  a  stout  blow  that 
otherwise  would  have  drawn  blood,  making  his  skin  the  color  of 
his  scarlet  doublet.  At  last  Robin  gave  him  a  clout  which 
glanced  from  his  buckler,  just  missing  his  ear,  and  nipping  off  a 
long  red  plume  from  his  cap.  The  scarlet  stranger  grew  more 
wary.  He  waited,  parried  and  feinted,  then  drew  back,  and  of  a 
sudden  leaped  forward  again.  As  he  leaped  he  struck,  beating 
down  the  buckler,  which  but  partly  turned  the  blow.  The  sword 
cut  a  long  gash  across  Robin's  skull,  making  the  blood  trickle 
down  from  every  hair  of  his  head  and  blinding  his  eyes  so  that 
he  could  no  longer  see  to  fight. 

"God-a-mercy,  good  fellow,"  quoth  Robin,  "tell  me  truly  who 
and  what  thou  art.  Fain  would  I  know  thy  name." 

"My  name  is  Will  Gamwell,"  answered  the  stranger,  "and  I 
was  born  and  bred  in  Maxwell  town.  I  seek  mine  uncle,  who 
dwelleth  in  these  parts.  Some  do  call  him  Robin  Hood." 

At  this,  bold  Robin  jumped  from  the  ground  on  which  he  lay, 
and  cried,  "Art  thou,  indeed,  young  Will  Gamwell,  mine  own 
dear  cousin,  with  whom  I  played  as  a  boy?" 

"What,  art  thou  Robin  Hood?  Then  I  am  indeed  thine  own 
sister's  son,  and  sore  I  do  repent  me  of  the  wound  I  gave  thee, 
for  I  knew  thee  not.  But  now  right  glad  am  I  that  I  have  found 
thee.  And  art  thou  in  good  sooth  the  famous  Robin  Hood  ?  Good 
faith,  little  did  I  think  to  hold  mine  own  against  so  stout  a  man. 
Truly  had  not  fortune  favored  me,  I  know  right  well  I  should 
now  be  lying  stretched  upon  earth,  and  not  thou." 

"Nay,"  quoth  Robin,  "the  blow  was  fairly  struck,  and  thou 
art  the  stoutest  fellow  of  thy  hands  that  ere  I  coped  withal.  As 
for  the  wound,  it  is  but  a  scratch." 

[44] 


"GOD-A-MERCY,  GOOD  FELLOW,"  QUOTH  ROBIN,  "FAIN 
WOULD  I   KNOW  THY  NAME" 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Thereupon  they  embraced  and  kissed  each  other  on  both 
cheeks. 

Meanwhile  Little  John  had  seen  his  master  fall  and  the  stranger 
bend  over  him,  but  had  never  dreamed  that  he  was  wounded  until 
he  failed  to  rise.  Then,  dashing  forward,  he  shouted,  "Give  me 
thy  sword,  my  master.  We  will  see  if  he  can  beat  me." 

"Nay,  nay,"  cried  Robin,  "hold  thy  hand,  Little  John,  for 
this  same  tall  youth  is  none  other  than  my  sister's  son,  Will 
Gamwell,  and  he  shall  be  one  of  our  merry  band." 

Little  John  thereupon  changed  his  tone,  and  turned  to  greet 
the  new-found  cousin  with  a  hearty  handshake  and  a  right  good 
hug  of  welcome  to  his  broad  chest.  For  Little  John's  heart,  like 
his  body,  was  big,  and  the  three  were  soon  on  the  best  of  terms. 
Then  and  there  a  love  grew  up  between  them  which  lasted  many 
a  long  year.  Arm  in  arm,  with  the  mighty  Little  John  in  the 
middle,  they  started  off  to  find  a  cool  spring  or  rivulet  to  bathe 
Robin's  still  bleeding  wound.  This  done  and  Robin's  pate 
bound  up  with  a  piece  of  linen,  they  strode  along  a  fern-lined 
path,  with  the  great  dead  hart  slung  from  the  brawny  back  of 
Little  John. 

"Come  now,"  quoth  jolly  Robin,  "tell  me,  good  nephew,  how 
it  befell  that  thou  didst  leave  thy  home  and  come  to  seek  me,  an 
outlawed  man,  in  the  forest;  for  methought  thou  hadst  house 
and  lands  enough." 

"That  will  I,  blithely,"  quoth  young  Gamwell.  Then  he  told 
how,  when  his  father  died  and  he  fell  heir  to  the  estate,  a  dastard 
Norman  baron  whose  lands  lay  anigh  his  had  plotted  with  his 
father's  old  steward  to  slay  him  that  the  lands  might  be  his. 
So  the  steward,  being  bribed  with  a  great  sum,  gave  his 
word.  On  a  day  young  Will  was  hunting  in  the  forest  when 
he  spied  the  old  rascal  with  bow  bent  and  shaft  pointed  at  his 
breast. 

"And  so  without  more  ado,"  quoth  Will,  "I  got  me  behind  a 
tree  and  shot  him  where  he  stood.  Then  was  I  made  an  outlaw 
for  killing  a  man,  and  straightway  betook  myself  to  the  forest 
to  seek  out  my  good  uncle.  For,  in  faith,  they  are  fain  to  walk 

[47] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

in  wood  who  may  not  walk  in  town.  And  now  thou  knowest 
all." 

Then  said  Robin:  "In  happy  time  thou  comest,  fair  coz,  and  I 
thank  the  saints  that  this  day  I  have  escaped  with  my  life  from 
the  stoutest  swordsman  in  England,  found  a  dear  nephew,  and 
gained  a  brave  comrade  for  my  merry  men." 

Soon  they  reached  their  trysting-place,  and  much  the  outlaws 
wondered  to  see  bold  Robin  with  a  cloth  about  his  head  and  a 
tall  stranger  in  scarlet  beside  him.  But  when  they  knew  who 
Will  Gamwell  was  and  how  stoutly  he  had  fought  with  Robin, 
they  welcomed  him  gladly. 

"Go  now,"  said  Robin  to  Will,  "I  long  to  see  thee  dressed  as 
one  of  our  band;  so  get  thee  a  change  of  good  Lincoln  green  in 
place  of  that  most  fiery  raiment,  which  shall  not  be  forgotten. 
Since  the  law  is  on  thy  head  and  name,  that  name  shall  hereafter 
be  Will  Scarlet.  And  next  to  Little  John  here,  thou  shalt  be  my 
right-hand  man." 

Anon  Will  Scarlet  returned  dressed  all  in  Lincoln  green.  All 
were  hungry,  and  straightway  they  spread  a  great  feast  on  the 
soft  greensward.  Robin  sat  at  the  head,  with  Little  John  on  his 
right  and  his  nephew,  now  Will  Scarlet,  on  his  left.  The  great 
haunch  of  smoking-hot  venison  was  always  placed  before  Little 
John  to  do  the  carving.  Other  dishes  there  were — roast  geese, 
ducks  and  swans,  grouse,  partridges,  pastry  pies  of  rabbits,  hares, 
and  squirrels.  Then  came  salmon  and  trout  from  the  rivers,  and 
great  pikes  from  the  ponds  and  lakes — some  boiled,  others 
roasted  and  stuffed.  In  good  sooth,  the  outlaws  had  no  lack  of 
meat  and  drink.  The  broad  forest  was  their  domain,  and  all  its 
creatures  were  theirs  for  the  taking.  From  time  to  time  great 
tubs  of  wine  and  barrels  of  nut-brown  ale  were  brought  by  pack- 
horses  to  a  certain  spot,  to  be  carried  thence  by  the  outlaws  to 
their  trysting-place.  All  fared  alike,  and  all  were  well  fed,  sum- 
mer and  winter. 

As  for  Will  Scarlet,  he  was  at  first  amazed,  then  wondrous  glad 
to  have  found  a  life  so  goodly  and  free  from  care.  While  the 
merry  jests  went  round  he,  at  Robin's  request,  told  how  his  life 

[48] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

had  been  spent  and  what  troubles  he  had  passed  through  since 
both  were  boys  together.  Robin's  thoughts  went  back  to  his 
old  home  by  Needwood  Forest;  but  he  had  no  real  desire  to  leave 
the  greenwood,  and  he  knew  full  well  that  such  a  thing  might 
not  be.  An  outlaw  he  had  been  since  his  fifteenth  year,  and  an 
outlaw  he  must  remain  till  the  breath  left  his  body. 


VI 


ROBIN   HOOD   WINS   THE   GOLDEN   ARROW 

a  fine  morning  a  sennight  after  the  merry 
feast  in  honor  of  Will  Scarlet  you  might  have 
seen  a  tall  fellow  dressed  in  ragged  clothes 
striding  through  the  forest  toward  the  out- 
laws' bower.  As  he  came  nigh  the  great  oak 
he  gave  a  call  like  the  hoot  of  an  owl.  Some 
of  the  band  heard  him,  and  hooted  in  turn, 
call,"  quoth  one,  "of  our  worthy  spy — the  honest 
servant  of  the  Sheriff's  house,  that  hath  news  to  tell  of  what  goes 
on  in  Nottingham  town." 

Striding  forth  from  the  trees  into  the  open  glade  came  the 
ragged  spy. 

"What  news  hast  thou,  Tom  o'  Clayton?"  asked  Robin. 
"Brave  news,  good  outlaw,"  quoth  he,  "for  his  worship  the 
Sheriff  hath  hied  him  to  London  town  with  a  troop  of  his  re- 
tainers all  dressed  in  gay  attire  and  made  complaint  to  King 
Henry  and  Queen  Eleanor  of  the  great  scathe  done  his  good  name 
and  chattels  by  one  Robin  Hood  and  his  outlaw  band." 
"And  what  said  the  King?"  asked  Robin. 

"The  King  was  sore  wroth,  as  I  have  heard  tell.     'Why,'  quoth 
he,  'what  wouldst  thou  that  I  should  do?     Art  thou  not  sheriff 

IS*] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

for  me?  The  law  is  in  force,  therefore  do  thou  execute  it  as  is 
thy  bounden  duty.  Get  thee  gone  and  sweep  the  forest  clear 
of  all  these  thieving  rogues,  or,  by  my  golden  crown,  thou  art  no 
sheriff  for  me/  Then  was  the  Sheriff  sorely  troubled  and  crest- 
fallen, and  he  left  the  court  with  a  fiery-red  face  amid  the  laughter 
of  all  the  King's  attendants.  And  now  he  hath  proclaimed  a 
great  shooting-match  to  be  held  in  fair  Nottingham  town  three 
days  hence,  with  a  prize  of  a  cunningly  wrought  arrow  with  a 
golden  head  and  shaft  of  white  silver." 

With  that  stepped  forth  a  brave  yeoman,  young  David  of 
Doncaster.  "Master,"  he  said,  "be  ruled  by  me,  and  let  us 
not  stir  from  the  greenwood.  This  same  match  is  but  a 
wile  of  the  Sheriff's  to  entrap  thee.  The  shrewd  old  rogue 
thinks  to  get  us  all  together  in  the  town  and  so  to  take  us 
unawares." 

Quoth  Robin:  "Thy  words  do  not  please  me,  for  they  savor 
of  cowardice.  With  bow  and  staff  and  good  broadsword  we  may 
match  the  Sheriff  and  all  his  base  churls.  Natheless,  good  David, 
thou  saist  truly,  'tis  a  crafty  plan — but  we  will  meet  guile  with 
guile.  Let  us  all  disguise  ourselves  and  be  clad  as  common 
yeomen,  tinkers  and  tanners,  beggars  and  friars.  If  we  scatter 
and  mix  in  the  crowd  none  shall  know  that  outlaws  be  among 
them.  But  let  each  take  care  to  have  a  stout  coat  of  chain  mail 
beneath  his  jerkin." 

Then  up  spake  brave  Little  John.  "The  plan  I  like  full  well. 
What  say  ye,  my  comrades?" 

"With  right  good  will,"  cried  every  one,  right  lustily. 

"Then  make  ye  ready,  my  merry  men  all,"  quoth  Robin  Hood. 
"I,  with  tattered  scarlet  coat  and  black  patch  over  one  eye,  will 
shoot  my  best  for  this  same  golden  arrow,  and  if  I  win  we  shall 
keep  it  in  our  bower  as  a  trophy." 

So  on  that  bright  sunshiny  morning  early,  they  made  ready 
with  shouts  of  laughter,  for  in  such  strange  guise  were  they 
tricked  out  that  scarce  any  man  could  name  his  neighbor.  Some 
had  dyed  their  beards,  and  all  doffing  their  garb  of  Lincoln  green 
bad  donned  raiment  that  suited  them  full  ill.  Truly  such  a 

[53  I 


ROBIN    HOOD 

gathering  of  tall,  lusty  beggars,  tinkers,  friars,  and  men  of  all 
trades  was  ne'er  before  seen  in  Sherwood  Forest. 

The  little  birds  caroled;  the  titlark  and  goldfinch,  the  green 
linnet  and  spotted  thrush,  sang  from  every  bush  and  tree  as  the 
merry  company  started  forth  from  their  leafy  bower  with  hearts 
all  firm  and  stout,  each  resolving  that,  should  he  fall  foul  of  the 
Sheriff's  men,  he  would  clout  their  pates  with  right  good  will. 
Anon  they  left  the  forest  in  different  places  by  threes  and  fours, 
that  none  might  get  an  inkling  of  their  purpose  to  be  present  at 
the  butts.  Every  street  and  every  little  lane  was  dotted  with  a 
mixed  crowd — mostly  afoot,  though  here  and  there  a  knight  rode 
by  with  his  proud  dame  by  his  side  or  a  haughty  abbot  astride 
his  sleek  cob,  disdainful  of  the  poorer  folk  that  louted  low  as  he 
passed.  Many  strangers  could  be  seen  with  their  bows  slung  at 
their  sides,  dust-covered  and  tired,  who  were  on  their  way  to  this 
famed  trial  of  skill.  So  Robin  and  his  band  mingled  with  the 
people  that  journeyed  toward  Nottingham. 

The  shooting  range — or  butts — lay  outside  the  town  on  a  level 
field  of  green  turf,  flanked  on  one  side  by  sloping  banks,  where  the 
poorer  people  sat  on  the  grass.  On  the  other  side,  shaded  from 
the  sun's  rays,  were  benches  and  a  gallery  set  apart  for  the 
Sheriff,  his  wife,  and  other  officers  of  the  town.  Here,  too,  sat 
barons  and  knights  with  ladies  fair,  dressed  in  state  and  decked 
in  colors  gay.  The  stands  were  trimmed  in  bright  draperies, 
buntings,  ribbons,  and  flags,  and  were  guarded  by  men-at-arms 
with  hauberks  and  spears.  Heralds  with  trumpets  stood  ready 
to  announce  the  beginning  of  the  sports. 

The  field  was  crowded  early,  long  before  the  great  folk  arrived, 
for  you  must  know  it  had  been  noised  abroad  that  the  Sheriff 
had  gathered  together  a  large  troop  of  the  King's  foresters,  be- 
sides his  own  men,  that  he  might  the  better  take  Robin  Hood 
and  his  fellow-outlaws.  The  beautiful  and  costly  prize  had 
brought  many  famous  archers  from  neighboring  counties.  From 
Tutbury,  Stoke,  and  Stafford  came  the  well-known  Ned  o'  Tin- 
kersclough,  Simon  of  Hartshill,  and  Roger  o'  Thistlebery — the 
latter  a  brawny  blacksmith  from  Newcastle  who  had  ne'er  been 

[54] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

vanquished.  From  Derbyshire  came  two  stout  archers  named 
Ralph  of  Rowsley  and  Hugh  o'  the  Moors — both  confident  to 
bear  away  the  prize.  So  everybody  was  on  tiptoe  awaiting  what 
might  betide.  Some  feared  a  battle,  but  many  there  were  among 
the  poor  and  lowly  who  hoped  to  see  the  Sheriff's  men  soundly 
drubbed. 

All  the  outlaws  save  Robin  Hood  scattered  through  the  crowd 
and  none  knew  them.  The  Sheriff,  when  he  had  taken  his  seat, 
signaled  the  herald  to  sound  three  blasts  as  a  warning  to  the 
archers  to  be  prepared,  and  then  the  rules  were  proclaimed,  that 
every  one  might  understand  them.  All  was  now  ready,  the  silver 
horn  again  sounded  three  blasts,  and  the  archers  began  to  shoot. 
The  Sheriff  looked  anxiously  round  about,  peering  from  side  to 
side,  first  at  the  archers  and  then  at  the  crowd. 

"Ah,"  quoth  he,  scratching  his  head,  "I  see  none  in  Lincoln 
green,  such  as  the  outlaws  are  wont  to  wear.  I  weened  he  would 
have  come,  for  it  is  little  like  Robin  Hood  to  bide  at  home  when 
there  is  fair  sport  toward.  Nay,  rather  would  he  risk  his  head. 
Yet  perchance  he  feareth." 

Calling  a  trumpeter  to  him,  he  said, "  Dost  thou  see  Robin  Hood 
among  these  archers?" 

"Nay,  truly  I  see  him  not,  your  worship.  Those  that  foot  the 
line  are  all  well  known  to  me.  Moreover,  the  bold  outlaw's  beard 
is  golden  as  the  setting  sun,  yet  none  here  hath  a  beard  save  the 
ragged  stranger  in  scarlet  with  but  one  eye — and  his  beard  is 
dark  brown." 

"He  cUirst  not  come,  and  is  a  cowardly  knave,"  murmured  the 
Sheriff. 

Meanwhile,  the  ragged  man  in  red  stood  up  beside  the  crowd 
of  archers  without  a  fear  and  waited  till  most  of  the  men  had 
shot.  The  four  targets  surrounding  the  small  one  in  the  center 
were  well  covered  and  spotted  with  shafts,  yet  none  had  hit  the 
inner  circle.  The  great  throng  applauded,  for  such  shooting  was 
seldom  seen.  Already  a  goodly  number  had  dropped  out,  leaving 
but  five  archers,  Roger  o'  Thistlebery,  Hugh  o'  the  Moors,  two 
strangers,  and  the  ragged  red  one  with  the  black  eye.  At  the 

[55] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

third  round  Roger  planted  his  shaft  but  the  breadth  of  a  groat 
from  the  center. 

"That  shot  can  ne'er  be  mended,"  roared  the  Sheriff,  rising  from 
his  seat.  "The  man  from  Stafford  wins  the  prize  unless  yon 
ragged  robin  redbreast  shall  outdo  him,  which  is  scarce  likely 
sithen  he  hath  but  one  eye." 

He  of  the  black  eye  and  red  coat  never  looked  toward  the 
Sheriff. 

"A  fair  shot,  Roger,"  quoth  he.  "Hadst  thou  but  allowed  for 
the  slight  breeze  thy  shaft  would  have  pinked  the  clout." 

Hugh  o'  the  Moors  came  next,  and  he  saw  the  wisdom  of  what 
the  stranger  had  said.  So,  taking  good  heed  of  the  wind,  he  let 
go  the  string  with  a  twang,  and  his  arrow  pierced  the  very  center. 
Thereat  the  people  shouted  and  then  fell  silent  of  a  sudden  as  the 
one-eyed  archer  took  up  his  great  bow  and  with  seeming  careless- 
ness let  fly  his  shaft.  Then,  gaping  with  open  mouths  and  eyes, 
they  saw  Hugh's  arrow  fall  to  the  ground  split  to  pieces,  and  the 
stranger's  shaft  lodged  right  in  its  place. 

"Red-coat  wins;  Red-coat  hath  the  prize,"  they  cried.  Then, 
surging  forward,  they  half  dragged,  half  carried  the  winner  in  front 
of  the  Sheriff's  stand,  where  the  fair  ladies  cheered  and  waved 
their  ribbons. 

"And  now,  brave  archer,"  quoth  the  Sheriff,  "  here  is  the  prize 
thou  hast  fairly  won.  Thine  eye  is  true,  and  bearing  bold. 
Where  dost  thou  hail  from,  and  what  name  dost  thou  go  by?" 

"From  Locksley  town  I  come,  and  Nat  the  Blinker  am  I  called." 

"Well,  Nat,  though  thou  canst  only  blink  with  one  eye,  thou 
art  the  best  archer  my  two  eyes  have  ever  seen.  Surely  thou 
needest  a  better  coat.  If  thou  wilt  serve  me  and  enter  my 
company,  I  will  make  thee  captain,  with  good  pay,  enough  to  eat 
and  drink,  and  a  chance  to  capture  that  knavish  thief,  Robin 
Hood,  who  loved  his  hide  too  well  to  venture  here  this  day. 
Come  now,  by  Saint  Hubert,  is  it  a  bargain?" 

"Nay,"  quoth  the  man  in  scarlet.     "No  master  will  I  serve." 

"Then  out  upon  thee,  thou  saucy  fellow!  Get  thee  gone  ere 
my  men  whip  thee  from  out  the  town.  Thou  art  a  fool  or  else 

[56] 


AN  ARROW  CAME  WHIZZING  THROUGH  THE  OPEN 
WINDOW 


ROBIN    HOOD 

thou  art  a  knave.  I  have  a  mind  to  put  thee  in  a  dungeon  cell 
to  cool  thy  hot  blood,  and  so  would  I  do  but  that  thou  hast  pleased 
me  with  thy  shooting." 

So  the  tattered  stranger  turned  away  and,  mingling  with  the 
crowd,  was  seen  no  more. 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  the  great  oak  in  the  forest  glen, 
and  the  balmy  evening  air  was  tinged  with  the  savory  smell  of 
roast  venison  and  great  steaming  game  pies  that  lay  on  the  ground 
amid  barrels  and  tankards  of  foaming  nut-brown  ale.  Sur- 
rounding this  great  feast  sat  the  merry  band  of  outlaws,  ready  to 
begin  carving  with  their  sharp  daggers,  when  a  tattered  stranger 
in  scarlet  appeared,  bearing  in  his  hand  an  object  that  all  might 
see.  Then  a  mighty  shout  was  heard  that  echoed  through  the 
forest: 

"Welcome  and  long  life  to  our  dear  captain,  brave  Robin 
Hood  that  won  the  prize." 

So  Robin  Hood  brought  the  arrow  of  silver  and  gold  to  Sher- 
wood Forest. 

The  feast  was  a  jolly  one.  All  had  merry  jests  to  tell  of  what 
they  had  done  in  the  strange  garb  they  wore,  for  they  knew 
many  that  knew  them  not,  and  in  sooth  their  own  fathers  would 
have  passed  them  by.  So  with  songs  and  jollity  the  joyous 
feast  went  on  till  the  stars  began  to  peep;  and  the  outlaws, 
like  the  birds,  went  to  roost  before  night's  mantle  wrapped  the 
leafy  trees  in  darkness.  But  before  they  dispersed  Robin  said 
to  Little  John: 

"  I  like  not  the  Sheriff's  words,  and  fain  would  I  have  him  know 
that  it  was  Robin  Hood  to  whom  he  gave  the  prize." 

"Ah!"  quoth  Little  John,  "that  would  be  sour  mash  to  his  crop, 
but  how  to  do  it  passeth  my  wits.  Yet  hold,  I  have  it."  And  for 
a  time  he  spake  earnestly  with  Robin  Hood,  who  laughed  aloud 
and  clapped  him  upon  the  back. 

On  the  morrow,  as  the  Sheriff  sat  at  his  meal  at  the  head  of  a 
long  table  of  guests,  he  spake  loud  in  praise  of  the  shooting.  "  But 
sore  grieved  am  I,"  quoth  he,  "that  Robin  Hood  was  not — " 

[S9l 


ROBIN    HOOD 

As  that  last  word  came  from  his  lips  an  arrow  came  whizzing 
through  the  open  window,  landing  right  in  the  breast  of  a  fat 
capon  that  lay  on  the  table.  The  Sheriff  and  his  guests  started 
up  in  dismay  at  so  strange  a  sight. 

"What  means  this — a  plot  or  treason?"  roared  the  Sheriff. 

Then  in  a  calmer  tone  he  bade  an  attendant  get  the  shaft 

and  bring  it  to  him.     As  he  took  it  up  he  saw  a  strip  of  bark 

wrapped  around  it,  which  he  straightway  tore  off  and  unwound. 

Within  was  writing,  and,  with  staring  eyes,  he  read: 

"It  was  Robin  Hood  that  bore  away  the  golden  arrow." 
Then  the  Sheriff  dropped  to  his  chair  in  a  limp  mass,  crying: 
"The  crafty  villain  hath  again  covered  me  with  shame  and 
sorrow!  What  am  I  to  do?  What  can  I  do?  It  was  that  black 
patch  on  his  evil  eye  that  deceived  me.  I  felt  in  my  bones  none 
but  that  saucy  knave  would  beard  me  so."  Then,  bringing  down 
his  fist  with  a  bang  upon  the  table  and  breaking  the  arrow  to 
splinters,  he  cried,  "  By  the  bones  of  Saint  Swithin,  I  will  patch 
his  other  eye — yea,  both  eyes,  that  are  much  too  keen  for  my 
peace.  When  I  do  catch  him  I  will  stretch  his  neck  the  length 
of  a  goose." 


VII 


HOW   ROBIN   HOOD   MET   FRIAR  TUCK 

'OR  a  time  after  the  winning  of  the  golden 
arrow  the  merry  outlaws  kept  them  close  in 
Sherwood  Forest.  When  the  larder  was  well 
supplied  with  game  the  great  oak  glade  was 
given  up  to  sport.  Some  would  play  at  bowls, 
or  at  dice;  others  would  have  wrestling- 
matches,  bouts  at  quarter-staff,  or  mock  duels 
with  sword  and  buckler.  But  their  favorite  and  never-ending 
delight  was  shooting  with  the  long-bow — that  trusty  weapon 
which  made  them  so  justly  famed  and  feared. 

Will  Scarlet,  being  the  last  to  join  the  band,  had  many  friendly 
challenges  to  stand  up  against.  He  knew  his  own  skill,  as  like- 
wise did  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John,  but  many  others  wished 
to  put  him  to  the  test.  In  all  these  contests  Will  acquitted  him- 
self honorably.  One  day  Little  John  took  a  bow-string  and  hung 
up  a  dead  squirrel  from  a  bough  at  five  hundred  feet  away,  and 
after  taking  careful  aim,  because  the  wind  swayed  the  mark,  he 
sped  his  shaft  clean  through  the  squirrel's  body  amid  resounding 
cheers. 

"God's  blessing  on  thy  head,"  quoth  Robin.     "Gladly  would 
I  walk  a  hundred  miles  to  see  one  that  could  match  thee." 
At  that  Will  Scarlet  laughed  full  heartily. 
"That  is  no  such  hard  matter,"  quoth  he,  "for  at  Fountains 
Abbey  there  dwells  a  curtal  friar  that  can  beat  both  him  and  thee." 

[61] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Then  Robin  leaped  up  lightly  from  the  greensward,  where  he 
had  been  lying  stretched  at  length. 

"Now,  by'r  Lady/*  quoth  he,  "neither  food  nor  drink  will  I 
touch  until  I  have  seen  this  friar  of  thine,  were  he  in  very  truth 
a  hundred  miles  away.  Therefore  make  ready  to  lead  us,  while 
I  don  my  cap  of  steel,  broadsword,  and  buckler,  to  meet  this 
holy  archer/' 

"It  be  no  hundred  miles,  good  uncle,"  quoth  Will.  "We 
shall  gain  Fountains  Abbey  ere  noon." 

So  Little  John,  Will  Scarlet,  and  Robin  strode  through  the 
forest  at  a  quick  gait,  mile  after  mile  without  a  stop,  till  they 
came  to  Needwood  Forest,  hard  by  Tutbury,  where  Friar  Tuck 
had  in  days  past  received  Will  Scarlet  to  his  broad  bosom,  learned 
to  love  him,  and  taught  him  all  his  skill  with  sword  and  long- 
bow and  quarter-staff.  Fountains  Abbey  was  so  called  from  a 
sparkling  silver  rivulet  that  danced  down  the  moss-grown,  fern- 
lined  rocks,  at  the  side  of  which  the  Friar  had  built  a  hermitage 
of  rocks  and  boulders  carried  from  a  brook  close  by.  Here  he 
dwelt  alone — cool  and  sheltered  in  summer,  warm  and  snug  in 
winter.  In  such  a  place  a  man  might  fast  and  pray  undisturbed, 
or  perchance  drink  good  wine  and  feast  upon  the  dun  deer,  if 
he  liked  better;  for  there  was  none  to  say  him  nay.  From  time 
to  time  a  wandering  knight  on  his  war-horse,  or  pious  abbot  on 
an  ambling  pad,  caught  a  glimpse  in  passing  of  the  little  forest 
abode,  and  would  there  alight  for  a  drink  at  the  sparkling  foun- 
tain and  a  blessing  from  the  Friar.  But  Friar  Tuck  held  aloof 
from  all  save  the  few  he  chose  as  friends,  and  among  them  was 
the  young  curly-headed  lad  Will  Gamwell,  whose  estates  ran 
hard  by  the  forest. 

When  the  three  outlaws  were  still  some  way  off  they  caught 
sight  of  Fountains  Abbey,  below  them,  through  a  slight  opening 
of  the  trees. 

"There,"  quoth  Will  Scarlet,  "thou  wilt  find  the  holy  man 
thou  seekest." 

"Well,"  said  Robin,  "do  ye  two  remain  here.  I  fain  would 
parley  with  this  man  alone." 

[62] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Nay,  that  we  will  not/'  Little  John  replied.  "Thou  art 
always  over-ready  to  put  thy  head  in  danger  without  a  cause." 

"Truly,  as  to  danger  from  a  holy  man  I  have  no  fear,"  said 
Robin,  "but  I  would  have  my  way  in  this." 

So  saying,  he  strode  forward  alone,  leaving  Little  John  and 
Will  behind,  till  a  blast  from  his  bugle  should  call  them.  He 
trudged  along  till  he  came  to  a  brook,  by  the  side  of  which,  seated 
upon  the  ground  among  a  bunch  of  tall  ferns,  he  espied  a  man 
with  a  missal  book  on  his  lap  and  a  leather  bottle  at  his  lips 
in  the  act  of  drinking.  So  long  the  bottle  remained  tilted  in 
air  that  Robin  stole  anigh  ere  the  other  saw  him.  Robin  stood 
still,  and  the  bottle  was  slowly  lowered,  displaying  a  perfectly 
round,  fat  face  as  red  as  a  cherry,  with  small,  laughing  blue  eyes 
fringed  with  heavy  black  eyebrows.  The  friar's  shaven  crown 
shone  like  glass,  and  it  too  was  fringed  with  a  circlet  of  curly 
black  hair.  His  broad,  fat  neck  was  quite  bare,  and  back  of  it 
was  a  cowl  of  rough,  brown  cloth  attached  to  a  loose,  flowing  robe 
of  the  same  stuff,  covering  a  powerful  and  strong-limbed  body. 
Round  his  middle  was  buckled  a  leathern  belt  that  held  some 
keys,  a  string  of  beads,  and  a  dagger.  Beside  him  on  the  ground 
lay  a  sword,  a  buckler,  and  a  steel  cap. 

As  he  slowly  took  the  bottle  from  his  lips  he  beheld  the  stout 
yeoman  standing  there,  and  straightway  such  a  look  of  amaze- 
ment came  over  his  funny  red  face  that  Robin  burst  forth  into 
a  loud,  hearty  laugh.  "Holy  man,"  quoth  he,  "methought  that 
bottle  was  glued  to  thy  face,  so  long  and  lovingly  did  it  cling  to 
thy  cherry  lips.  If  there  be  aught  left  within  it,  the  draught 
must  be  right  pleasant.  I  would  fain  drink  thereof,  to  sweeten 
my  dry  throat  withal." 

"Ah!  wouldst  thou?"  was  the  answer.  "Then  why  not  test 
yon  cool,  sparkling  brook  from  whence  the  bottle  was  filled?" 

"Nay,  nay,  good  Friar,  thou  wouldst  make  no  such  pretty 
gurgling  music  with  water  as  I  heard  from  thee  but  now.  What 
is  more,  gin  thy  rosy  cheeks  belie  thee  not,  precious  little  water 
hath  passed  thy  lips  this  many  a  day." 

"Well,"  said  the  Friar,  "a  pious  man  ought  not  to  deny  a 
[63] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

stranger  who  asks  a  drop  to  quench  his  thirst."  So  saying,  he 
passed  the  bottle  to  Robin. 

Robin  took  a  long  pull  and  found  the  liquor  so  good  that  he 
tipped  the  bottle  higher  and  higher,  keeping  it  so  long  tilted 
upright  that  at  last  the  Friar  jumped  to  his  feet  with  a  roar  like 
a  bull,  saying: 

"Thou  greedy  guts,  thou  tap  without  end,  by  Saint  Wilfrid  I 
will  part  thy  mouth  and  my  bottle  with  a  cuff  over  thy  ribs 
that  will  land  thee  on  the  other  side  of  the  brook!" 

"Ay,"  quoth  jolly  Robin,  smacking  his  lips,  "right  good 
Rhenish  water,  I  trow!  Grammercy  for  the  loan  of  thy  bottle, 
which  I  will  straight  refill  from  the  brook  for  thy  future  use." 

"Nay,  mock  me  not,"  cried  the  Friar,  peering  anxiously  down 
the  neck  of  the  bottle,  "but  go  thy  ways  while  there  yet  is  peace 
betwixt  us,  and  trifle  no  more." 

"Dost  thou  not  know,"  asked  Robin,  "of  a  certain  curtal 
friar  in  these  parts  named  Tuck?" 

"Mayhap  I  do,  and  mayhap  I  do  not.  If  thou  meanest  him 
of  Fountains  Abbey,  the  place  is  but  a  few  rods  down  the  glade 
when  thou  hast  crossed  the  brook." 

"Ay,  truly,"  said  Robin,  "but  I  see  no  place  to  cross  without 
wetting  my  new  hosen.  I  pray  thee,  therefore,  kind  and  good 
Friar,  carry  me  across  on  thy  broad  shoulders.  Come,  tuck  up 
thy  robe  and  bend  thy  back  that  I  may  meet  this  same  curtal 
friar  in  seemly  fashion." 

Then  the  Friar  closed  one  eye,  screwed  up  his  mouth,  and 
placed  his  finger  upon  his  brow  as  in  deep  thought.  At  last  he 
said:  "What — if  the  good  Saint  Christopher  were  so  willing,  my 
unworthy  self  should  not  refuse."  So  saying,  he  laid  down  his 
missal  and,  tucking  up  his  skirts,  took  Robin  Hood  on  his  back. 
He  plunged  into  the  flowing  water  up  to  his  waist,  carefully 
feeling  his  way  over  the  pebbles  on  the  bottom,  and  spake  no 
word,  good  or  bad,  until  he  reached  the  further  bank. 

Then  Robin  leaped  lightly  from  his  back  and  set  off  briskly  for 
Fountains  Abbey. 

"Hold!  Not  so  fast,  my  fine  fellow!"  cried  the  Friar.  "For 
[64] 


THE  FRIAR  TOOK  ROBIN  ON  HIS   BACK 


ROBIN    HOOD 

now  I  bethink  me  I  have  left  my  missal  and  my  steel  cap  upon 
the  other  side." 

"Well,"  quoth  Robin,  "naught  hinders  thee  to  go  back  and 
get  them." 

"Nay,  but,"  quoth  the  Friar,  smiling,  "one  good  turn  de- 
serves another,  and  therefore  thou  must  e'en  carry  me  back 
on  thy  shoulders,  for  peradventure,  with  another  ducking  I  may 
take  a  chill  or  fall  sick  of  divers  pains  and  rheums." 

"What  if  I  should  not?"  quoth  Robin. 

"Then  I  will  baste  thy  hide  with  thine  own  sword  which  I 
carried  safely  over  and  now  hold." 

Now  Robin  liked  not  the  thought  of  playing  pack-horse  to 
this  burly  Friar.  But  he  bethought  him  that  the  fellow  spake 
truly  enough  concerning  the  sword,  so  he  bent  his  back,  with 
no  very  good  grace.  Straightway  the  Friar  began  to  prod  his 
heels  into  Robin's  sides  to  make  him  go  the  faster,  though  in 
sooth  he  had  to  go  slowly  and  carefully  over  the  rough  bottom 
with  so  weighty  a  burden.  But  he  spake  no  word,  and  after  much 
floundering  and  splashing  they  reached  the  bank  in  safety, 
where  the  Friar  got  his  steel  cap  and  his  buckler. 

"Now,"  quoth  Robin,  panting  and  sweating  with  his  hard 
work,  "it's  my  turn,  and  thou  shalt  carry  me  back,  or  I  will 
put  a  shaft  through  thy  fat  body  as  easily  as  a  maid  skewers 
a  capon." 

"Why,  so  I  will,"  quoth  the  Friar.  "So  put  up  thy  bow, 
and  come  along,  for  it  is  ill  to  shoot  upon  a  holy  man  that  hath 
done  thee  a  service." 

So  Robin  once  more  mounted  the  broad  back  of  the  lusty  Friar, 
and,  becoming  jubilant,  shouted,  "Come  up,  gee,  woa!"  rapping 
with  his  heels  the  stout  Friar's  shins,  who  quietly  plodded  along, 
without  a  word,  toward  the  middle  of  the  brook.  But  of  a  sudden 
he  gave  a  mighty  heave  of  his  shoulders,  and  Robin  flew  right 
over  his  head  into  the  brook  with  a  loud  splash,  while  the  Friar 
stood  holding  his  broad  ribs  from  bursting  with  laughter. 

"Now,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  cried,  "choose  thou  whether  thou 
wilt  sink  or  swim!" 

[67! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Robin  Hood  spake  no  word,  for  his  nose  and  mouth  were  full 
of  water,  and  he  had  no  breath  to  spare.  He  swam  to  a  bush  of 
broom  that  overhung  the  bank  and  dragged  himself  ashore. 
Meanwhile  the  Friar  leisurely  waded  out,  shaking  with  mirth. 

Robin,  full  wroth,  met  him  with  bow  bent  and  arrow  nocked  to 
the  string. 

"Now,  thou   false  Friar,  thou  shalt  die,"  he  cried,  grimly. 

But  the  other  never  blenched.    Raising  up  his  buckler  he  said: 

"Shoot  on,  thou  fine  fellow.  I  tell  thee  if  thou  shootest  here  a 
summer's  day,  I  will  never  flee  thee." 

Thereat  Robin  lowered  his  bow.  "Nay,"  quoth  he,  "on  second 
thought,  I  will  not  shoot  thee  dead  where  thou  standest,  rascally 
hedge  priest  though  thou  be'st.  But  with  my  good  broadsword  I 
will  let  thy  blood.  Therefore,  arm  thyself  and  make  ready,  for 
if  I  do  not  carve  the  brawn  from  ofF  thy  fat  jowl,  by  Saint  Dun- 
stan,  I'll  supperless  to  bed  for  two  moons." 

"Be  not  so  hasty,"  quoth  the  Friar,  calmly.  "I'm  ready  and 
willing  as  a  maid  is  to  wed."  He  slowly  set  his  steel  cap  upon 
his  head,  and  then,  grasping  his  broadsword  firmly  in  his  great 
fist,  he  faced  Robin  with  a  bold  front,  bawling  out:  "Now.  my 
crowing  cockerel,  I'll  clip  thy  comb  and  spurs  anon — yea,  shake 
thy  wet  feathers!" 

Thereupon  they  rushed  together  with  a  loud  clash  of  steel 
and  flying  sparks,  but  ere  long  Robin  saw  that  he  must  curb 
his  hot  blood  or  soon  have  it  spilled;  for  the  Friar,  though  angry, 
was  calm  and  determined,  bearing  down  Robin's  guard  with  his 
heavy  arm.  So  they  fought  from  right  to  left,  up  and  down,  back 
and  forth  in  the  glade,  with  a  savage  fury  and  noise  as  if  'twere 
a  whole  company  at  fray. 

Hour  after  hour  the  battle  went  on,  with  short  pauses  for  rest, 
both  panting  and  sweating,  eying  each  other  in  silence,  for 
neither  had  breath  to  waste  in  speech.  From  ten  o'clock  that 
morn  had  they  struggled,  and  now  past  noon  they  were  still 
tearing,  slashing,  and  cutting  with  aching  arms  and  tired  backs; 
yet  neither  had  a  scratch. 

"Hold!"  bellowed  the  Friar.  "Let  us  give  o'er  for  a  space 
[68] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

to  take  a  midday  bite  and  quench  our  thirst.  Then,  to  it 
again." 

"Not  so,  thou  tough  mountain  of  flesh,"  shouted  bold  Robin 
Hood.  "Not  till  my  sword  hath  taken  toll  on  some  part  of  thy 
body  will  I  give  o'er." 

"Nay,  hold  thy  hand  but  a  moment,  thou  doughty  fellow," 
quoth  the  Friar.  "Wilt  thou  not  suffer  me  to  take  oflf  this  hot 
steel  cap  to  cool  my  brow?  For  the  sweat  poureth  down  in 
mine  eyes  to  blind  me." 

"Yea,  do  so,  but  quickly,"  said  Robin,  the  better  pleased 
that  now  the  broad  shining  poll  would  be  a  fair  mark  for  his 
sword.  Then  the  battle  began  afresh.  Do  all  he  could,  Robin 
failed  to  strike  the  Friar's  crown;  and  he  in  turn  missed  Robin 
a  hundred  times — and  so  the  grim  fight  raged  till  four  in  the 
afternoon. 

The  ferns  and  woodland  flowers  were  trodden  into  a  shapeless 
mass  among  the  soft,  black  loam.  The  song-birds  had  long  flown 
away  affrighted  at  the  clashing  din.  At  last  bold  Robin  cried: 

"A  boon,  a  boon,  thou  curtal  Friar!  Give  me  leave  to  set 
my  horn  to  my  mouth,  and  to  blow  three  blasts  upon  it." 

"That  will  I,"  quoth  the  curtal  Friar,  lowering  the  point  of 
his  sword.  "I  care  not  for  thy  blast,  though  thou  blow  so 
passing  well  that  both  thine  eyes  fall  out." 

So  Robin  set  his  horn  to  his  lips  and  blew  three  loud  blasts. 
Scarce  had  the  Friar  heard  the  echo  when  he  saw  two  tall  archers 
with  shafts  ready  nocked  come  running  over  the  lea. 

"Whose  men  are  these,"  cried  he,  "that  come  so  hastily  at 
thy  call?" 

"These  men  are  mine,"  said  Robin  Hood.  "And  what  is  that 
to  thee?" 

Then  the  curtal  Friar  saw  that  he  had  been  tricked,  but  he 
abated  no  whit  of  his  boldness. 

"A  boon,  a  boon,"  he  cried,  mimicking  Robin,  with  a  shrewd 
glint  in  his  eye,  "like  to  that  I  granted  thee!  Give  me  but 
leave  to  set  my  fist  to  my  mouth  and  whistle  thrice." 

"That  will  I,"  quoth  Robin,  "for  it  is  but  just  and  fair.  Three 
[69] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

whistles  from  a  Friar's  fist  will  be  a  glad  and  blithesome  sound, 
I  trow." 

So  the  Friar  put  his  fist  to  his  mouth  and  gave  three  loud 
whistles.  The  next  moment  there  came  half  a  dozen  great 
mongrel  dogs  tearing  along,  barking  loud  as  they  drew  nigh. 

"Here,  thou  cowardly  villain,"  said  the  Friar,  "are  a  couple 
of  shaggy  hounds  for  each  of  thy  men,  and  I  myself  will  be  enough 
for  thee.  At  'em,  my  pets,  tear  their  green  jerkins  to  shreds, 
my  hearties." 

Thereupon,  two  great,  ugly  mastiffs  climbed  in  front  and  back 
of  Robin  in  a  trice  before  he  had  time  to  defend  himself  or  flee. 
At  last,  torn  and  ragged,  he  got  him  to  a  tree  and  sat,  with  legs 
astride  a  stout  limb,  watching  Little  John  shoot  at  the  fierce 
brutes.  Then  he  saw  what  made  him  doubt  his  eyes,  for  the  dogs 
leaped  aside  from  the  flying  arrows,  caught  them  in  their  mouths, 
and  broke  them  in  twain. 

"This  is  witchcraft,"  thought  Robin,  "and  the  Friar  is  a 
wizard,  for  never  might  dogs  do  so  of  their  own  nature."  His 
wonder  grew  when  he  saw  Will  Scarlet  step  forth  boldly  toward 
the  hounds  with  no  weapon  in  his  hand. 

"Down,  Beauty;  down,  Bess,"  cried  Will,  cuffing  them  right 
and  left.  Straightway  the  dogs  began  to  cower  down  and  fawn 
upon  him,  and  gamboled  about  him  as  he  stepped  toward  their 
master. 

"What  meaneth  this?"  quoth  the  Friar.  "Have  my  dogs 
gone  daft  to  love  the  company  of  thieves  and  cutthroats?  Have 
I  not,  with  their  aid,  kept  Fountains  Abbey  seven  long  year  and 
more  from  baron,  knight,  and  squire,  and  must  I  now  yield 
myself  to  three  beggarly  yeomen  that  dare  to  beard  me  in  mine 
own  dale?  Tear  them,  tear  their  limbs  asunder,  good  dogs!" 

Will  Scarlet  now  came  forward,  petting  a  great,  ugly  hound. 

"Marry,  stout  Friar,"  quoth  he,  "cease  thy  brawling  and  curb 
thy  wagging  tongue." 

"What!"  said  the  Friar.  "Do  mine  eyes  behold  young  Will 
Gamwell  in  company  with  such  a  brace  of  deer-stealers  ?  Now, 
I  swear  by  holy  Saint  Boniface  I  will — " 

[70] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Peace,  Friar,  and  hear!"  cried  Will. 

Then,  pointing  to  Robin,  he  said:  "This  stout  yeoman  who 
seemeth  ill  at  ease  perched  in  yonder  tree  is  none  other  than  my 
good  uncle,  Robin  Hood.  The  other  tall  fellow  is  Little  John,  his 
good  right-hand  man;  and  hither  they  have  come  to  bid  thee  join 
our  merry  band  of  outlaws  in  Sherwood  Forest.  Call  off  thy 
mongrel  dogs  and  let  us  speak  together  and  set  matters  right." 

"Right  well,"  quoth  the  Friar,  "do  I  know  Robin  Hood  by 
report,  but  doth  he  think  to  get  me  by  cracking  my  bones?  In 
troth,  I  ache  and  am  full  sore." 

At  length,  somewhat  appeased  and  soothed  by  Will's  manner 
and  words,  he  whistled  off  his  hounds.  Then  Robin  climbed  down 
the  tree  and  Little  John  with  him  drew  nigh  unto  the  Friar. 

"For  a  holy  man,"  quoth  Robin,  "truly  thou  art  the  stoutest 
fighter  that  e'er  I  clapped  eyes  upon." 

"Nay,  good  Robin,  thou  art  the  better  man,  I  trow,  for  never 
was  I  so  weary  of  any  man  in  fight."  With  that  he  pushed 
forth  his  brawny  palm,  saying,  "Right  glad  am  I  to  meet  the  bold 
outlaws  of  Sherwood  Forest." 

"And  now,"  quoth  Robin,  "all  being  well,  we  will  together 
go  in  search  of  Friar  Tuck,  whom  we  came  seeking;  and  thou,  holy 
Friar,  must  guide  us." 

"By  my  troth,"  laughed  Will,  "thou  hast  not  far  to  seek,  for 
that  same  holy  friar  now  stands  before  thee." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Robin.    "Surely  thou  art  not  Friar  Tuck!" 

"The  same,"  quoth  the  Friar,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  naughty, 
laughing  eyes,  "that  gave  thee  a  duck  in  yon  stream." 

"And  the  same,"  laughed  merry  Robin,  "that  drained  the 
bottle  of  good  Rhenish  wine.  Truly  my  mouth  waters  to  think 
upon  it.  Hast  thou  no  more  of  the  like  by  the  fountain?  for  after 
such  sound  buffets,  given  and  ta'en,  we  would  both,  I  trow,  be  the 
better  for  good  meat  and  drink." 

"Right  gladly,"  quoth  the  Friar,  "will  I  welcome  you  to  my 
humble  hermitage,  though  I  fear  me  the  fare  is  but  a  sorry  crust. 
But  come  away  all  to  my  abbey,  and  mayhap  with  endeavor  we 
may  find  enough." 

[731 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Then  all  strode  down  the  glade,  and  the  Friar  unlocked  the 
stout  door  with  a  large  key  hanging  from  his  belt. 

"Welcome,"  quoth  he,  "to  my  poor  lodging  and  its  scanty 
fare." 

They  were  ushered  into  a  little  room,  entirely  bare,  except  for  a 
small,  plain  table  and  stool.  "Tarry  here  while  I  make  search 
for  food  and  drink."  So  saying,  the  Friar  disappeared  for  a  time, 
and  returned  anon  with  a  broad  smile  on  his  fat  face.  Silently 
he  beckoned  them  to  follow  down  a  dark  passage  to  another  room. 
It  was  much  larger  and  wider  than  the  other,  with  a  low  ceiling, 
into  which  was  let  a  large  stained-glass  window,  which  gave  the 
only  light.  This  window  the  Friar  had  carried  away  in  pieces, 
earlier  in  life,  when  he  had  helped  to  build  the  beautiful  priory 
at  Coventry. 

For  you  must  know  that  in  those  early  days  only  the  churchmen 
were  architects,  artists,  and  writers.  Many  of  the  beautiful  cathe- 
drals, like  Lichfield,  were  then  a-building,  and  up  to  the  present 
time  nothing  to  equal  them  in  church-building  has  been  done. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  room  had  plenty  of  light;  but  nothing 
could  be  seen  in  it  from  the  outside.  In  the  corners  were  low 
couches  covered  with  rich  fabrics,  and  from  the  walls  hung  a 
number  of  images  of  the  saints  and  a  large,  beautiful  crucifix. 
But  Robin  and  his  men  had  eyes  only  for  the  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  with  four  chairs  ready  set;  for  upon  it  were  a  big, 
uncut  venison  pie,  large  pots  of  honey,  plenty  of  cakes,  and  many 
tankards  and  beakers  of  good  ale  and  wine. 

"This  room,"  quoth  Friar  Tuck,  with  a  merry  twinkle,  "is  only 
used  by  mine  own  dear  friends — the  outer  room  serves  for 
strangers.  And  now  fall  to,  merry  brothers,  after  a  blessing,  and 
let  us  see  what  we  shall  do." 

They  did  as  they  were  bid,  doing  full  justice  to  the  jolly  Friar's 
bounteous  fare.  Amid  the  laughter  and  merriment  Will  told  how 
he  had  joined  the  band;  and,  together  with  Robin  and  Little 
John,  he  begged  Friar  Tuck  to  become  one  of  them. 

"We  are,"  quoth  Little  John,  "much  in  need  of  a  holy  man,  to 
christen  and  to  marry,  and  oft  to  chasten  us  when  we  quarrel." 

[74] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Well,"  quoth  Friar  Tuck,  "in  truth,  I  like  not  well  to  change 
my  quiet  life  to  live  among  a  band  of  outlaws.  But  it  may  be 
that  it  is  my  duty  sithen  ye  say  ye  have  no  holy  man  among  you. 
Nay,  go  to,"  quoth  he,  wagging  his  head,  "methinks  as  a  holy 
man  I  have  no  choice.  What  saith  the  good  Saint  Christopher 
touching  the  saving  of  sinners?" 

At  this  Will  Scarlet  laughed  loudly.  "Nay,  if  thou  comest, 
'twill  be  because  of  thy  most  unholy  love  of  hunting,  quaffing,  and 
good  company.  But  make  an  end,  sweet  chuck,  and  say  thou 
wilt  come." 

Then  they  all  urged  him  right  heartily,  until  at  last  he  gave  his 
word. 

"Let  us  away,"  quoth  Robin,  "without  more  ado,  for  the  hour 
groweth  late." 

"By  the  mass,  not  so  fast!"  said  the  Friar.  "Tarry  ye  here  and 
rest  for  the  night  with  me.  Then  on  the  morrow  early  we  will 
gather  up  all  needful  things  for  my  comfort,  and  ye  shall  help 
convey  them  to  Sherwood.  Also  my  dogs  must  not  be  left  behind, 
and  I  must  lock  up  the  Abbey  snug  and  tight  against  the  time  we 
may  need  it." 

To  this  Robin  agreed,  and  after  big  draughts  of  nut-brown 
ale  each  lay  down  on  a  couch,  tired  but  happy,  for  a  good  night's 
slumber.  In  five  minutes  all  were  fast  asleep  save  Robin,  who 
could  scarce  rest  for  his  aching  bones.  Anon  he  heard  a  strange, 
rasping  sound  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Friar's  couch,  which 
grew  louder  and  louder  till  it  became  such  a  deep  roar  as  to 
make  the  room  tremble. 

"Holy  Saint  Withold!"  thought  Robin.  "What  is  that  horrid 
sound  like  unto  a  wild  bull's  roar?  In  truth,  I  cannot  rest  with 
such  a  din.  Let  me  search,  and  mayhap  I  shall  find  the  cause." 
So  saying,  he  got  up,  moving  toward  the  couch  on  which  the  Friar 
lay,  to  find  the  deep  tones  proceeding  from  Tuck's  wide-open 
mouth.  "So,  it  is  thou!"  quoth  he,  and  gave  the  Friar  a  dig  in 
the  ribs,  whereat  the  other  did  but  give  a  loud  grunt.  But  after 
more  digs  he  at  last  raised  himself  sleepily,  saying,  "How  now, 
good  Robin?  'Tis  not  the  morn  as  yet." 

[75] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Nay,"  quoth  Robin.  "Good  faith,  I  wish  it  were.  Thy 
snores  grievously  disturb  my  slumber,  so  thunderous  and  so 
awful  that  in  sooth  my  spirit  quakes.  Canst  thou  not  sleep 
where  the  din  cannot  reach  me?" 

"Lie  down,"  said  the  Friar,  "and  I  will  keep  awake  till  thou 
sleepest." 

So  Robin  got  to  rest  and  waked  no  more  till  he  heard  loud 
shouts  from  the  Friar,  which  told  him  that  the  morning  meal  was 
ready.  Straightway  they  all  arose  and  went  to  the  fountain  for 
a  cold  dash  of  water  on  their  faces  and  a  deep  draught  to  drink. 

The  day  was  yet  very  early;  'twas  scarce  three  o'clock.  The 
purple  haze  and  a  yellow  streak  in  the  sky  proclaimed  the  sun 
was  up.  The  skylark  soared  aloft,  its  song  fading  in  the  distant 
clouds,  and  the  woods  resounded  with  joyous  bird-notes.  Full 
merrily  they  set  to  work,  when  their  meal  was  ended,  to  help  the 
Friar  gather  his  belongings,  while  the  dogs  ran  hither  and  thither, 
happy  to  be  free.  Slowly  the  Friar  turned  the  key  in  the  great 
lock.  Then,  with  a  wistful,  last  look  at  Fountains  Abbey,  he 
turned  his  face  toward  the  forest,  and  with  his  companions  silently 
strode  forward  on  the  road  to  Sherwood. 


VIII 


ROBIN    MEETS    TWO    PRIESTS    UPON    THE    WAY 

lUST  as  the  sun  reached  high  noon  the  four 
travelers  came  forth  from  the  forest  trees  into 
the  glade  of  the  great  oak.  A  rousing  cheer 
greeted  Robin  and  his  companions.  They 
were  well  weighted  down  with  things  owned 
by  the  Friar,  who  was  fain  to  bring  all  his 
gear  and  his  weapons — his  many  bows,  shields, 
and  mail-coats,  and  great  store  of  arrows.  "For  they  are  my 
dear  friends,"  quoth  he.  The  six  mongrel  dogs  felt  strange 
among  so  great  a  press  of  men,  and  were,  as  yet,  in  no  humor  to 
be  petted  or  to  make  friends. 

"I  warrant  them  to  be  kind  in  a  few  days,"  quoth  the  Friar, 
as  they  snapped  and  snarled. 

Quoth  Robin  to  his  men:  "Have  any  of  you  heard  aught  of 
what  goes  on  in  the  great  world?" 

"Yea,"  answered  one.  "Our  spies  in  Nottingham  town  hear 
that  King  Henry  hath  died  in  his  palace  of  Chinon  in  France 
of  a  broken  heart,  because  of  his  sons,  John  and  Richard,  who, 
with  the  barons,  joined  the  French  King  against  their  own  father. 
Now  Richard  is  soon  to  be  crowned  King  of  England,  and  after 
that,  say  they,  he  goeth  upon  a  crusade  to  the  Holy  Land.  All 

[77] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

the  highways  are  thick  with  people  on  their  way  to  London 
from  York,  Chester,  and  other  big  towns.  The  whole  kingdom 
is  sore  distraught." 

So  Robin  Hood  bethought  him  that  now  would  be  a  good 
time  to  enlarge  their  treasures — to  give  back  to  the  poor  what 
the  rich  and  powerful  had  stolen.  Straightway  he  and  Little 
John  laid  their  heads  together.  Small  companies  of  the  band, 
each  under  a  leader  chosen  by  Robin,  were  set  to  guard  and 
watch  certain  roads  and  lanes  nigh  unto  the  forest.  For  the 
most  part,  the  outlaws  were  disguised.  As  beggars,  palmers, 
minstrels,  or  monks  went  they  forth. 

On  a  fair  morn,  as  the  warm,  yellow  sunlight  trickled  through 
the  branching  leaves,  Robin  boldly  strode  alone  through  the 
forest,  bound  for  a  certain  bend  of  the  great  highway  that  a 
forest  path  joined.  For  while  he  dearly  loved  his  companions — 
Little  John  most  of  all — it  was  his  great  delight  to  seek  ad- 
venture alone.  Many  a  hard  knock  had  he  gotten  because  of 
his  hardihood,  yet  so  sure  was  he  of  his  own  strength  and  skill 
that  he  hated  the  thought  of  help  even  from  friends. 

So,  garbed  as  a  friar  with  hood,  gown,  beads,  and  crucifix, 
and  with  his  trusty  sword  hidden  beneath  his  gown,  he  struck 
through  the  forest  and  came  to  the  highroad.  For  once  he  had 
left  his  quarter-staff  and  long-bow  behind.  Anon  he  stopped  to 
rest,  and  sat  him  down  by  the  roadside  upon  a  large  fallen  tree- 
trunk,  mossy-green  with  age.  Three  happy,  smiling  maidens 
passed  by  with  a  "Good  day,  dear  father,"  that  brought  forth 
in  deep  tones  a  solemn  reply,  "  Benedicite !"  At  last  he  spied 
some  distance  down  the  road  two  lusty  priests,  clad  all  in  black, 
riding  comfortably  upon  the  broad  back  of  a  strong,  heavy- 
limbed  horse.  Going  forth  to  meet  them,  Robin,  with  his  hand 
on  the  horse's  bridle,  addressed  them: 

"Benedicite!  Take  pity  on  me,  for  our  Dear  Lady's  sake. 
Nay,  but  one  silver  groat  shall  content  me.  For  truly  I  have 
been  a-wandering  all  this  day  and  have  gotten  naught — not 
so  much  as  one  poor  cup  of  drink  nor  bit  of  bread." 

"I  prithee,  Friar,  let  go  the  bridle,"  quoth  one  of  the  priests, 
[78] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"for  by  our  Holy  Dame,  we  have  not  a  penny.  Early  this  morning, 
hard  by  the  forest,  we  were  robbed  of  all  we  had  by  two  bold 
varlets  dressed  like  thee." 

"Nay,  by  the  mass,"  quoth  Robin,  "I  fear  me  thou  speakest 
false,  for  I  am  well  acquainted  with  all  the  honest  outlaws  of 
Sherwood,  and  know  full  well  that  none  but  myself  weareth  hood 
and  gown."  At  these  words,  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  broadsword 
handle  peeping  through  his  robe,  the  priests  began  thumping 
the  horse  with  their  heels.  But  Robin  picked  up  his  gown  round 
his  waist,  and  with  running  soon  overtook  them. 

"Now,  by  my  faith,  ye  shall  both  come  down  in  a  trice,"  quoth 
he.  Then,  reaching  up,  he  caught  both  their  cowls  and  pulled 
them  from  their  horse. 

"O,  spare  us,  Friar,"  cried  the  priests.  "Thou  wouldst  not 
rob  from  the  Church.  Think  of  thy  cloth,  take  pity,  and  have 
some  remorse.  No  good  can  come  of  such  a  foul  deed." 

"Now,  look  ye,"  quoth  jolly  Robin,  "if  indeed  ye  have  no 
silver,  no  harm  shall  befall  you.  For  as  much  as  ye  said  but 
now  that  ye  had  none,  I  am  resolved  that  without  more  ado  we 
all  three  shall  fall  down  upon  our  knees  and  try  whether  we 
may  get  it  by  praying.  So,  down  upon  your  knees  and  pray 
with  all  your  hearts." 

The  priests  looked  up  and  down  and  all  about  them,  but 
they  saw  naught  save  the  blue  sky,  the  green  trees,  and  the  white 
road.  At  last,  perceiving  that  there  was  no  help  for  it,  they  got 
them  to  their  knees,  and  in  right  mournful  tones  besought  the 
saints  to  aid  them.  "Send  us,  O  send  us  silver  to  serve  our 
need,"  they  cried — then  in  a  whisper,  "that  this  bold,  wicked 
villain  may  go  his  way  and  leave  us  in  peace." 

"Pray  more  earnestly,"  quoth  Robin.  "I  fear  me  we  shall 
get  no  great  sum  at  this  rate." 

Then  they  began  to  wring  their  hands,  calling  upon  the  saints 
right  lustily.  Sometimes  they  wept,  while  Robin  did  merrily 
sing  to  cheer  them  on.  But  after  a  space  he  wearied  of  this 
sport. 

"Now,  by  the  mass,"  said  he,  "we  will  see  what  the  good 
[79] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

saints  have  sent  us,  and  will  be  sharers  all  alike  of  their  bounty 
without  deceit  or  guile." 

Then  the  priests  with  doleful  countenances  put  their  hands 
into  their  pockets,  but  drew  them  out  empty. 

"Marry,"  quoth  Robin,  "ye  have  both  prayed  mightily,  and 
it  cannot  be  that  ye  have  not  been  heard.  Therefore,  let  us, 
one  by  one,  search  one  another." 

So  first  of  all  Robin  searched  the  priests,  and  anon  he  poured 
out  upon  the  grass  a  great  store  of  gold — full  five  hundred  pieces. 

The  two  priests  watched  him  with  very  sour  faces  and  sorrow- 
ful hearts.  "Alas,"  quoth  one,  "had  we  given  him  the  groat  he 
asked  for,  this  grievous  thing  would  not  have  befallen."  Trem- 
bling, they  waited  on  their  knees  to  see  what  would  be  done  with 
the  money.  At  last  quoth  Robin: 

"Here  truly  is  a  brave  show — such  a  store  of  gold  as  does  mine 
eyes  good  to  look  upon  and  maketh  our  hearts  glad.  I  warrant 
neither  of  you  looked  for  such  a  windfall.  Sithen  ye  have  prayed 
so  heartily,  ye  shall  each  have  a  part.  I  shall  give  to  each  fifty 
pounds,  and  the  rest  I  will  keep  for  myself." 

Both  priests  sighed  wondrous  'deep,  but  never  a  word  they 
spake.  Rising  from  their  knees,  they  moved  away  to  mount  their 
horse  lest  Robin  should  happen  to  change  his  mind  and  make  them 
divide  again,  or  perchance  take  away  from  them  that  which  he 
had  freely  given.  When  they  had  taken  but  a  few  steps  Robin 
said: 

"Nay,  tarry  awhile.  One  thing  more  I  have  to  say  ere  ye 
leave  this  place." 

"What  wouldst  thou  more?"  they  asked. 

"Marry,  this:  ye  shall  make  three  vows  that  I  shall  tell  you. 
The  first  is,  that  ye  shall  never  again  tell  lies  wheresoever  ye  go. 
And  the  second  oath,  that  ye  will  be  charitable  to  the  poor  and 
needy;  and  the  third  oath  ye  shall  swear  is  to  tell  it  abroad  that 
ye  met  with  a  holy  friar  who  taketh  only  from  him  that  hath  and 
giveth  to  him  that  hath  not."  With  much  groaning  and  murmur- 
ing and  shaking  of  heads,  they  took  the  three  vows.  Then  Robin 
set  them  on  their  horse;  and  away  they  went  down  the  road  at  a 

[80] 


TRAY  MORE  EARNESTLY,"  QUOTH  ROBIN 


ROBIN    HOOD 

sharp  trot,  glad  indeed  to  have  escaped  without  further  harm. 
Robin  watched  them,  chuckling. 

"Faith,  Robin,  thou  hast  done  very  well,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  took  a  by-path  toward  the  forest.  "I  would  fain  have  had 
thy  service  in  this  matter" — patting  the  hilt  of  his  broadsword — 
"  but  patience,  good  friend,  we  must  bide  our  time."  As  he  moved 
leisurely  along,  thus  communing  with  himself,  he  heard  snatches 
of  a  merry  lay,  accompanied  by  the  notes  of  a  harp,  blending 
together  in  sweet  harmony. 

"Truly,"  quoth  he,  "one  who  can  trill  such  silvery  notes  must 
surely  carry  a  purse,  wherein  some  golden  coins  may  perchance 
jingle  another  tune  with  my  good  aid." 

So  he  stood  behind  a  tree  and  listened  as  the  singer  came 
toward  him.  The  stranger  was  a  tall  young  stripling  with  long, 
golden,  curly  locks,  and  dressed  in  bright  scarlet.  He  carried 
the  harp  before  him  as  he  played,  and  seemed  a  happy  and  free 
minstrel.  "I  will  be  sworn,"  thought  Robin,  "that  yon  tuneful 
bird  hath  nothing  to  pluck  save  his  scarlet  hosen,  and  them, 
forsooth,  I  want  not;  so  let  the  light-hearted  youth  go  by. 
Twere  foul  shame  to  break  the  tune." 

As  the  singer  passed  on  the  music  grew  softer  in  the  distance 
and  at  last  died  away.  Then,  since  the  sun  was  near  setting, 
Robin  set  out  for  his  woodland  home, well  content  with  the  money 
he  had  taken  from  the  two  priests. 


IX 


ALLAN-A-DALE   GETS   HIS    BRIDE 

|HEN  Friar  Tuck  heard  Robin  tell  the  tale  of 
the  two  priests  he  laughed  so  heartily  that  he 
split  asunder  his  leathern  waistband,  and,  with 
tears  trickling  down  his  fat  cheeks,  quoth  he: 
"Truly,  Robin,  thou  art  too  kind  and  forgiv- 
ing. Had  I  been  there,  the  fifty  pounds  would 
never  have  rested  again  in  their  pouch." 
lay,  Friar,"  quoth  Robin,  "in  that  thou  art  wrong,  for  be 
it  remembered  we  make  it  a  rule  to  strip  none  bare,  but  to  leave 
a  crust  even  to  a  lying  priest.  What  is  more,  they  withstood  me 
not,  but  obeyed  like  lambs  led  to  the  slaughter/' 

"Ay,"  said  the  Friar,  "they  well  knew  that  to  fight  with  such 
a  one  as  thou  would  surely  gain  them  naught  but  cracked  crowns. 
Howbeit,  I  have  it  in  my  mind  to  join  thee  in  the  next  adven- 
ture and  take  my  part  as  may  befit  an  outlaw  friar."  Then  he 
sucked  in  his  lips  as  if  such  a  deed  would  taste  as  sweet  as  roast 

pig- 

"Well,"  quoth  Robin,  "we  will  at  once  make  ready — Little 
John,  Will  Scarlet,  thou,  and  I." 

Then  Robin  went  to  attire  himself  as  a  merry  harper,  with 
many-colored  ribbons  tied  about  him  and  with  a  gay  plume  of 

[84] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

feathers  in  his  cap,  his  trusty  broadsword  and  bow  for  weapons. 
Soon  all  four  were  striding  through  the  forest. 

They  had  gone  scarce  a  mile  when  they  espied  a  young  man 
with  head  drooping  who  at  every  step  fetched  forth  a  sigh  and 
oft  wrung  his  hands,  crying,  "Alack,  and  well-a-day!" 

"By  my  faith,"  quoth  Robin,  "I  warrant  this  youth  is  none 
other  than  the  same  gaily  dressed  scarlet  bird  whom  I  heard  but 
yester  eve  singing  a  roundelay  in  the  forest.  How  comes  it  that 
he  is  changed  so  soon  to  a  sniveling,  ragged,  ill-clothed  varlet 
such  as  we  now  behold.  Go  thou,  good  nephew  Will,  and  bring 
him  to  us,  for  verily  I  would  know  the  reason  of  so  strange  a  turn 
of  fortune." 

So  Will  Scarlet  stepped  forth  toward  the  weeping,  unhappy 
youth,  who,  upon  seeing  a  man  approach,  nocked  a  shaft  and  bent 
his  long-bow,  crying,  "Stand  off,  stand  off!  What  is  your  will 
with  me?" 

"Naught  that  is  harmful,"  quoth  Will.  "Our  master,  Robin 
Hood,  whom  thou  seest  standing  beneath  yon  greenwood-tree, 
bids  thee  straightway  go  before  him  to  answer  certain  questions 
he  shall  ask  of  thee." 

At  last  the  doleful  youth  laid  by  his  long-bow  and,  going  quietly, 
without  demur,  stood  before  bold  Robin  Hood,  who  spake  him 
fair  and  courteously. 

"How  is  this?  Last  eve  I  saw  thee  gaily  dressed,  blithesome, 
and  jolly,  singing  like  a  happy  cock  robin  to  his  mate,  and  now, 
behold,  we  find  thee  bedraggled  and  downcast.  How  may  this 
be?" 

Thereupon  the  youth  drew  himself  up  and  looked  upon  Robin 
with  a  show  of  boldness. 

"Nay,  why  should  I  tell  thee  this ?"  quoth  he.  "If  thou  meanest 
aught  of  ill  to  me,  let  me  tell  thee  thou  hast  naught  to  do  to  harm 
so  poor  and  wretched  a  man.  Truly  I  have  naught  in  the  world 
save  five  shillings  and  a  ring  that  I  have  kept  these  seven  long 
years  against  the  time  of  my  marriage." 

"Do  but  tell  us  thy  woe,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  mayhap  it 
shall  be  well  with  thee." 

[85] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Then  the  youth,  seeing  kindness  in  Robin's  face,  took  courage 
and  said: 

"In  sooth,  I  know  not  why  thou  askest,  yet  I  will  tell  thee  the 
whole  matter,  for  it  is  all  one  to  me  whether  thou  meanest  well 
or  ill.  Yesterday  I  was  to  wed  a  lovely  maid,  but  she  was  torn 
away  from  me  by  her  cruel  father,  who  chose  to  make  her  marry 
a  rich  old  knight.  Wherefore  my  heart  is  slain,  because  I  have 
neither  money  nor  lands." 

"Does  the  maid  love  thee,  or  hath  she  changed  her  mind  of 
a  sudden,  as  maids  will?" 

"In  truth,  she  loveth  me  dearly,  but  they  have  torn  us  asunder, 
and  will  force  her  to  be  married  this  very  day,  and  that  is  the 
cause  of  my  unhappy  state." 

"Truly,"  quoth  Tuck,  "if  she  love  thee,  and  be  willing,  why 
dost  thou  not  take  her  away  by  main  force  ?  Thou  wert  ready 
enough  but  now  to  use  thy  bow  upon  us.  Try  the  same  trick 
upon  the  old  knight.  I'll  warrant  he  will  soon  repent  of  his 
bargain." 

"It  is  her  father  I  fear,"  replied  the  youth,  "and  to  him  I 
would  do  no  harm." 

"Come,  tell  me,"  quoth  Robin,  "what  is  thy  name?" 

"  By  the  faith  of  my  body,"  said  the  sad  fellow,  "  my  name  is 
Allan-a-Dale." 

"Now  what  wouldst  thou  give,"  quoth  Robin,  "to  one  that 
would  help  thee  to  thy  true  love  again  and  deliver  her  'into  thee?" 

"I  have  no  money,"  quoth  the  tearful  youth,  "nor  ready 
gold,  nor  fee,  therefore  mock  me  not." 

"I  mock  thee  not,"  said  Robin,  "but  I  have  a  mind  to  help 
thee." 

"If  thou  dost  the  thing  thou  sayest,"  cried  Allan,  "right 
gladly  will  I  swear  upon  a  Book  forevermore  to  be  thy  true 
servant  and  to  do  any  deed  for  thee  that  is  laid  upon  me." 

"Well,"  said  Robin,  "tell  me  without  guile,  how  many  miles 
from  here  is  the  church  where  the  wedding  is  to  be?" 

"In  sooth,  it  is  but  five  short  miles,  and  by  an  easy  path  could 
I  guide  thee  thither." 

[86] 


(WE  FIND  THEE  BEDRAGGLED  AND  DOWNCAST" 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"What  say  ye,  my  comrades,  shall  we  help  the  poor  lad  to 
his  true  love?" 

"Ay,  that  we  will,"  chimed  in  the  others,  with  one  accord. 

"But,"  quoth  Little  John,  "we  shall  need  help  from  our  com- 
rades. Do  thou,  Will  Scarlet,  go  back  to  our  trysting-place  and 
choose  twenty  stout  fellows  to  meet  us  at  the  church." 

"Yea,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  tarry  not  by  the  way.  As  for  us, 
we  will  go  with  this  youth  to  see  how  they  make  ready  for  the 
wedding." 

So  Will  Scarlet  strode  off  at  a  good  gait,  while  Robin,  Little 
John,  and  Friar  Tuck  started  down  a  path  toward  the  church, 
which  they  reached  within  an  hour.  They  found  no  signs  of  a 
wedding,  so  they  waited  under  a  great  yew-tree  in  the  church- 
yard. Anon  came  Will  Scarlet  with  his  men,  and  Robin  bade 
them  keep  hidden  under  the  forest  trees,  but  within  sound  of 
bugle-call. 

Meanwhile,  Friar  Tuck  had  observed  a  priest  trying  to  open 
the  great  church  doors,  and,  stepping  forth,  he  addressed  him. 

"Let  me,  aged  brother,  give  aid  to  unlock  the  door." 

"Grammercy,  holy  Friar,  that  will  I  gladly.  Thy  brawny 
hand  is  more  fit  to  wield  so  large  a  key,  and,  I  doubt  not,  hath 
handled  a  more  dangerous  weapon  ere  now." 

"Nay,  not  so,  pious  priest.  Thou  seest  before  thee  a  most 
peaceful  man,  Friar  Tuck  of  Fountains  Abbey,  most  happy 
and  content  when  at  his  beads  and  fasting.  They  tell  me,"  he 
went  on,  "there  is  to  be  a  wedding  here  this  day." 

"Ay,  worthy  Friar,  and  in  brotherly  love  I  will  tell  thee,  from 
such  an  unfitting  bond  can  come  no  good." 

"Saist  thou  so?    And  why?"  asked  Tuck. 

"The  noble  knight,  good  man  though  he  be,  is  old  enough 
to  be  the  maiden's  grandfather — a  gaunt,  rickety  bag-o'-bones 
with  one  leg  in  the  grave — and  the  poor,  pretty  maid  stark 
crazy  in  love  with  a  more  fitting  mate.  But  her  father,  mis- 
guided man,  for  money  will  force  her  to  it,  and  vows  she  shall 
marry  the  knight  willy-nilly." 

"Here  they  come,"  quoth  Tuck.  "The  cavalcade  now  rides 
[891 


ROBIN    HOOD 

up  the  road.  Canst  thou  not,  good  priest,  hide  me  that  I  may 
witness  the  wedding  in  the  church?" 

"In  truth,  I  can.  Go  behind  yon  stone  column  in  the  little 
chapel,  where  thou  wilt  hear  and  see  all." 

The  wedding  procession  was  slowly  coming  up  the  road  toward 
the  church.  In  front  rode  the  knight,  Sir  Hugo  de  Ferrico,  with 
the  Bishop  of  Hereford  on  one  side  and  on  the  other  the  Prior 
of  Emmet.  The  knight,  on  a  gray  charger,  with  his  sallow, 
gaunt  face  between  the  jolly,  fat,  red  faces  of  his  companions, 
looked  like  a  honeysuckle  between  two  peonies.  Then  came  the 
maid's  father,  a  sour-looking  Saxon  franklin;  and  behind  him 
rode  the  daughter,  a  beautiful  maid  on  a  white  palfrey.  Behind 
her,  again,  rode  the  wedding  guests,  four  of  the  knight's  men-at- 
arms,  and  the  attendants  of  the  churchmen. 

When  Robin  saw  the  haughty  churchmen  dismount  from 
their  horses,  he  borrowed  Allan-a-Dale's  harp,  then  strode  boldly 
up  to  the  church  door  and  began  to  thrum  and  sing. 

"What,"  quoth  the  fat  Bishop,  "do  we  have  sweet  music  to 
welcome  the  wedding  guests?"  Then,  eying  Robin  closely,  he 
said,  "What  art  thou,  and  what  doest  thou  here  dressed  so 
gaily  in  bright  ribbons  and  feathers?" 

"I  am  a  bold  harper,  the  best  in  the  north  country,"  said 
Robin.  "Men  say  the  strains  of  my  music  do  make  the  heart 
glad,  and  the  newly  wedded  to  love  each  other  forevermore. 
Many  a  happy  bridegroom  hath  crossed  my  palm  with  golden 
coins,  from  the  river  Dee  to  Trent,  from  Derwent  to  Avon." 

"Ah,  truly,"  said  the  Bishop,  "then  do  thou  at  once  show  us 
thy  skill  while  the  fair  bride  dismounts  to  enter  the  holy  church." 

"Nay,  by  the  mass,"  quoth  Robin,  "that  is  against  my  rule." 
For,  to  say  sooth,  he  could  not  play  a  tune  to  save  his  life.  "I 
always  play  a  march  while  the  wedding  guests  walk  up  the  aisle, 
and  softly  soothe  the  harp  to  silence  as  the  ceremony  begins." 

"I  vow,"  quoth  the  Prior,  "the  harper  is  right,  and  a  very 
pretty  thing  'twill  be." 

Thus  it  was  that  Robin  waited  till  all  had  entered.  He  closely 
watched  the  rickety  old  knight  hobble  up  in  an  effort  to  hand 

[90] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

the  fair  maid  from  her  palfrey,  and  he  thought  he  never  before 
had  seen  a  face  so  sweet  and  gentle  as  hers.  Pale  and  sad,  she 
looked  about  like  a  frightened  fawn,  seeming  to  hope  that  even 
at  that  late  hour  some  good  saint  would  intervene  and  save  her 
from  the  vow  that  would  bind  her  to  this  old  dotard  of  trembling 
limbs. 

When  all  had  entered,  and  the  Bishop  was  ready  to  march 
with  stately  strides  up  to  the  chancel,  he  turned  sharply  round 
upon  Robin,  saying,  "Now  tune  thy  harp  and  make  music,  thou 
lazy  rogue,  for  see,  the  bride  moves  toward  the  altar." 

"Marry,  that  I  will  not,  till  I  see  thee  with  the  Book." 

"Thou  saucy,  beribboned  varlet,  I  will  have  thee  flogged  when 
all  is  done."  So  saying,  the  Bishop  took  his  place  and  opened 
the  Book  to  marry.  Robin  then  boldly  marched  up  and  placed 
himself  between  the  bride  and  the  groom. 

"By  holy  Saint  Dunstan,"  he  loudly  cried,  "this  is  no  fit 
match.  Thou  art  too  old  and  shaky,  Sir  Knight,  to  wed  a  maid 
so  young  and  tender.  The  bride  shall  choose  and  wed  her  own 
dear  love  that  is  of  her  own  age  and  sound  of  heart  and  limb." 

Then  all  the  company  stared  in  silent  surprise  at  Robin,  who 
put  his  horn  to  his  mouth  and  blew  three  loud  blasts  that  made 
the  rafters  ring.  Straightway  the  knight  reached  for  his  sword — 
but  he  had  forgotten  it  when  putting  on  his  wedding  clothes. 
He  shouted  to  his  men-at-arms:  "Slay  this  bold  varlet  that  dares 
disturb  the  rites  of  Holy  Church." 

But  as  they  were  about  to  lay  hands  on  Robin,  who  had  no 
weapon,  but  stood  ready  with  the  harp  to  defend  himself,  running 
up  the  church  came  twenty  archers  clad  in  Lincoln  green,  led  by 
Little  John,  Allan-a-Dale,  and  Friar  Tuck. 

Allan  thrust  Robin's  trusty  long-bow  into  his  hands,  and  as  he 
took  it  the  maid's  father  said  to  him,  in  angry  tones: 

"Thou  art  a  knavish  hind  to  bring  this  trouble  on  us  now." 

"Nay,  say  not  so!  I,  Robin  Hood,  and  my  stout  archers, 
have  come  hither  to  right  a  woeful  wrong  and  see  two  fond  lovers 
united." 

"It  shall  not  be,"  quoth  the  father,  "unless  thou  first  slay  me." 
[91] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

At  the  name  of  Robin  Hood  all  the  people  stood  aghast,  the 
men-at-arms  shrank  back,  and  the  knight  turned  in  stately  si- 
lence away.  Robin  boldly  stood  his  ground,  holding  his  trusty 
bow,  with  Little  John  and  the  others  at  his  side.  A  solemn  still- 
ness reigned  in  the  church;  the  Bishop  and  the  Prior  held  each 
other  up  in  trembling  fear,  saying  to  themselves,  "May  the  saints 
protect  us  from  this  naughty  villain  and  his  wicked  green- 
clad  hinds."  Then  they  tottered  toward  the  door,  but  Robin 
shouted: 

"Stop,  holy  churchmen,  I  have  use  for  you  ere  you  depart, 
and  mean  you  no  harm." 

Then  Sir  Hugo,  the  knight,  spake  in  pride  to  the  maiden's 
father. 

"Had  I  known  thy  fair  daughter  loved  and  was  beloved  of 
another,  by  the  mass,  I  would  not  have  wished  her  to  share  my 
castle,  my  lands,  and  my  proud  title.  Take  thy  daughter  and 
give  her  to  the  poor  minstrel  if  so  be  she  loveth  poverty  better 
than  riches."  Then  with  his  men-at-arms  he  hobbled  down  to  the 
church  door,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away. 

"Be  this  as  it  may,"  the  father  cried  out,  "she  shall  never 
marry  a  poor  starveling,  who,  I'll  warrant,  hath  not  a  groat  to 
patch  a  torn  doublet." 

"In  that  I  vow  thou  art  wrong,"  quoth  Robin.  "Give  him  the 
bag  of  gold,  Little  John,  that  I  took  the  other  day  from  the  lying 
priests." 

Then  the  bag  of  three  hundred  golden  coins  was  emptied  out  to 
appease  the  angry  father.  At  sight  of  them  his  face  changed. 

"Is  all  this  money  thine,  Allan-a-Dale?"  quoth  he. 

"Nay,"  quoth  Robin,  "it  is  thine,  an  ye  give  us  thy  blessing 
on  the  wedding  now  to  be,  though  she  shall  be  wedded,  blessing  or 
no,  for  we  doubt,  coming  from  so  sour  a  father,  if  it  be  of  any 
avail." 

The  heap  of  gold  was  tempting,  and  the  old  franklin  bethought 
him  that  since  Sir  Hugo  had  taken  himself  off  he  would  not  easily 
find  another  rich  suitor.  So  at  last  he  said,  sighing  deeply,  "If 
my  daughter  must  e'en  marry  Allan-a-Dale,  why,  good  faith, 

[92] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

marry  him  she  shall."  Then  all  the  wedding  party  cheered  and 
were  glad  at  heart. 

"Now,"  quoth  Robin,  "my  Lord  Bishop,  we  do  but  wait  upon 
thee  to  join  this  loving  couple  without  more  ado.  So  get  thee  to 
thy  place  and  open  thy  Book." 

"Nay,  thou  saucy  varlet,"  said  the  Bishop,  with  flashing  eye, 
"this  may  not  be.  The  banns  have  not  been  read  in  church 
three  times  o'er,  as  thou  shouldst  know  is  the  law  of  the  land  and 
of  Holy  Church." 

"Then  cry  the  banns  thyself,  Lord  Bishop,  to  marry  these  two 
lovers  whose  plighted  troth  needs  but  thy  good  help." 

"Nay,  by  the  mass,  that  will  I  not,"  shouted  the  Bishop. 

"Then,  an  thou  wilt  not,"  quoth  Robin,  laughing,  "I  will  make 
mine  own  bishop.  Stand  forth,  Friar  Tuck,  and  put  on  the 
bishop's  robes." 

With  that  Robin  pulled  off  the  Bishop's  coat,  then  took  off 
the  Prior's  gown  for  Little  John.  All  the  people  howled  with 
laughter  to  see  Friar  Tuck  tricked  out  in  such  fine  array.  The 
faces  of  the  Bishop  and  the  Prior  were  purple  with  anger  and 
shame,  but  they  dared  not  stir  a  finger. 

"If  thou  art  ready,  Little  John,  step  up  and  take  thy  place  to 
cry  in  church  this  loving  couple  three  times  aloud,  that  Friar  Tuck 
may  wed  them." 

Then  Little  John  went  up  into  the  choir,  whereat  the  people 
began  to  titter.  But  he  was  no  whit  put  out  of  countenance, 
and  he  cried  the  banns  seven  times  o'er  lest  three  times  should 
not  be  enough. 

When  he  had  finished,  Robin  called  him  down,  and  to  see  him 
walk  with  head  up  and  chest  pushed  out,  so  like  the  Bishop, 
sent  a  merry  peal  of  laughter  through  the  church.  But  the 
laughter  swelled  into  a  very  roar,  as  Friar  Tuck,  with  a  wink  of 
his  mischievous  eye,  took  the  Book.  With  a  show  of  spirit  the 
Bishop  cried  in  fiery  tones,  pointing  to  the  gorgeously  attired 
Friar:  "This  man  is  no  true  priest.  'Tis  but  a  rascally  hedge 
priest." 

"What  saist  thou,  proud  Bishop?"  bellowed  forth  Tuck,  his 
[93] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

body  shaking  with  rage;  and,  dropping  the  Book,  he  rushed  toward 
the  Bishop  like  an  angry  bull  at  a  red  coat.  "No  priest,  quoth-a! 
I  stand  here  before  thee  as  much  a  priest  as  thou  art,  a  holy  clerk 
in  orders,  the  Vicar  of  Fountains  Abbey,  a  pious,  holy  man  that 
loveth  his  neighbors,  that  doth  not  rob  the  poor  to  cover  his  back 
with  fine  clothes,  nor  line  his  belly  with  good  food.  Go  to,  proud 
churchman,  and  be  thankful  that  I  am  a  man  of  peace  and  that 
my  quarter-staff  is  at  mine  abbey,  or  it  would  soon  play  a  tune 
upon  thy  gross  body." 

His  choler  somewhat  abated  by  so  long  a  speech,  he  turned, 
puffing  and  blowing,  again  to  take  up  the  Book,  which  he  calmly, 
half  smilingly,  opened,  and  in  a  loud,  husky  voice  began  to  read. 
At  last  came  the  question,  "Who  gives  this  maid  to  wed?" 

Quoth  Robin  Hood:  "That  do  I,  and  he  that  takes  her  from 
Allan-a-Dale  shall  buy  her  full  dearly." 

Then  the  ring  was  placed  on  the  finger  of  the  blushing,  happy 
bride,  whose  face,  heretofore  so  pale  and  wan,  was  now  like  a 
blooming,  rosy  peach.  The  wedding  was  over  and  the  noisy, 
happy  crowd  pushed  forward  to  speak  fair  words  to  the  wedded 
lovers.  Then  Robin  said : 

"Take  off  the  churchmen's  robes,  and  give  them  back,  for,  in 
truth,  we  have  no  further  need  of  them.  Here,  Prior,  is  thy  robe, 
and  we  thank  thee  for  thy  holy  presence;  and,  Bishop,  here  is 
thy  coat.  But,  stop,  that  gold  chain  round  thy  neck  is  unbecom- 
ing to  a  holy  man,  and  more  seemly  for  the  pretty  throat  of  our 
queenly  bride." 

The  Bishop  made  a  wry  face  and  turned  to  go. 

"Give  it  up,"  roared  Robin,  "or  I  will  tear  it  from  thy  fat 
neck  in  a  trice." 

Meekly  the  Bishop  obeyed,  and  Robin  gracefully  wound  the 
massive  golden  chain  round  the  neck  of  Allan's  bride.  So  then 
the  Bishop  and  the  Prior  trotted  down  the  church  at  a  merry 
pace,  glad  indeed  to  get  away  with  their  skins  whole. 

"Thus,"  said  Robin,  "having  ended  this  merry  wedding,  we 
will  now  go  hence  to  our  happy  glade  among  the  leaves  so  green." 

So  they  hied  them  back  to  Sherwood  Forest,  where  they  feasted 
[94] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

and  pledged  the  bride  in  flagons  of  foaming  ale.     Allan  sang  for 
them  until  his  voice  grew  hoarse. 

If  you  remember,  Allan  had  promised  Robin  that  he  would  be 
his  servant  forevermore.  So  the  outlaws  built  a  bower  for  him 
and  his  bride,  who  dwelt  thereafter  in  the  forest  with  Robin  and 
his  men.  And  for  many  a  long  year  Allan-a-Dale's  tuneful  songs 
shortened  the  weary  hours  in  foul  weather  and  made  the  sunshine 
seem  brighter.  At  their  feasts  or  their  sports  he  never  once 
refused  a  song,  and  sometimes  of  a  moonlight  summer  night  he 
would  leave  his  happy  bower  for  a  while,  then  softly  go  to  where 
the  outlaws  lay  sleeping  on  their  leafy,  open-air  beds  to  sing  a 
love  song  or  lullaby  of  ancient  days.  Or  perchance  he  would  rise 
very  early  before  the  dawn  and  awaken  them  with  a  morning 
hymn.  Thus  he  entwined  himself  in  the  hearts  of  them  all. 

7 


X 


HOW  ROBIN  HOOD  DID   CHEAT  THE   TINKER 

OU  must  know  that  the  Bishop  of  Hereford 
and  Prior  Emmet  as  they  rode  away  from  the 
little  church  were  in  a  towering  passion  and 
spake  many  harsh  words  of  the  merry  outlaws, 
but  more  especially  of  Robin  Hood. 

"The  shameless,  thieving  rogue!"  said  the 
Bishop,  dolefully.  "The  bold,  naughty  vil- 
lain, to  tear  off  my  chain,  every  link  of  which  is  solid  gold,  that 
would  exchange  for  six  tuns  of  good  wine!  But  I'll  have  it  back," 
quoth  he.  "I'll  have  it  back,  for  I'll  set  the  Sheriff's  men  to 
scour  the  woods  and  make  these  same  outlaws  skip  away  like 
rats,  that  we  may  be  rid  of  such  vermin." 

"We  ought  to  thank  the  saints,"  quoth  the  Prior,  "that  the 
saucy  varlet  took  no  more." 

"Good  faith,  holy  father,  what  more  could  he  have  ta'en 
from  us  save  the  coats  from  our  backs  or  the  skin  from  our 
bodies?" 

"Thou  wottest  not,"  answered  the  Prior,  "that  my  pouch  con- 
tained fivescore  golden  coins,  and  I  do  wonder  his  sharp  eye  noted 
it  not  when  first  we  met.  But  so  soon  as  I  saw  what  was  toward 

[98] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

I  hid  the  pouch  in  the  folds  of  my  robe,  that  he  might  not  be 
tempted  to  give  the  maid  a  dower.  So  shouldst  thou  have  done 
with  thy  golden  chain,  my  Lord  Bishop." 

"The  chain  is  too  costly  for  the  child  of  a  Saxon  hind  to  keep," 
grumbled  the  Bishop.  "Natheless,  the  villain  spake  with  a 
semblance  of  truth  when  he  said  such  gauds  do  ill  become  a  holy 
churchman." 

Thus  they  talked,  sadly  enough,  as  they  rode  toward  Notting- 
ham town.  The  Sheriff  received  them  with  such  courtesy  as 
their  high  state  in  the  Church  demanded;  but  as  the  tale  of  the 
wedding  was  unfolded  he  grew  paler,  and  his  body  shrank  to- 
gether, till  at  last,  when  he  heard  of  the  golden  chain,  he  threw 
up  his  hands  in  despair,  crying: 

"Alack,  alack-a-day!  will  my  whole  life  be  ruined?  Is  there 
no  end  ?  Will  troubles  never  come  singly  ?  The  barons  rob  the 
Jews,  the  outlaws  rob  the  Church — what  is  to  become  of  our  un- 
happy land?  For  I  need  an  army  to  cope  with  such  fell  deeds. 
The  King's  foresters  will  not  go  near  this  hornets'  nest,  for  fear  of 
being  stung  with  their  arrows.  My  men-at-arms  start  and  grow 
pale  at  the  very  name  of  Robin  Hood.  Indeed,  I  myself  dare 
speak  his  name  but  in  a  whisper  for  fear  the  wretch  may  at  any 
moment  rise  from  the  very  floor  of  my  house  like  an  evil  spirit. 
Day  or  night,  sleeping  or  waking,  the  name  haunts  me  so 
that  I  am  like  to  go  daft.  Do  thou,  good  Bishop,  cudgel  thy 
brain  to  find  some  remedy,  for  mine  own  groweth  soft  and 
watery." 

"All  I  can  advise,"  said  the  Bishop,  "is  to  draw  up  a  warrant 
in  the  King's  name,  and  to  publish  broadcast  that  a  great  reward 
is  offered  for  the  outlaw's  capture.  Surely  there  are  many 
strolling,  hardy  villains  outside  Nottingham  who,  for  a  round  sum, 
will  attempt  to  rid  our  land  of  this  pest.  I  myself  will  give  a 
hundred  pounds  to  get  my  chain  again,  and  do  thou,  Sheriff, 
offer  another  hundred.  Such  a  noble  sum  will  doubtless  draw 
many  brave  hearts  to  the  adventure." 

So  it  was  soon  noised  about  in  Nottingham  town  that  a  great 
reward  had  been  offered  to  any  who  should  capture  the  bold 

[99] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

outlaw,  Robin  Hood.  Messengers  on  horseback  carried  the  news 
north  and  south.  A  notice  was  posted  upon  the  door  of  the 
Town  Hall,  but  the  townsfolk  only  laughed.  They  knew  it  was 
no  hard  matter  to  offer  a  reward,  but  not  so  easy  to  earn  it. 
Indeed,  they  were  sure  no  single  man  would  be  found  foolish 
enough  to  try. 

It  so  happened  one  day  that  a  number  of  men  were  seated 
on  a  bench,  drinking  ale  at  the  door  of  the  Blue  Boar  Inn,  round 
the  corner  from  the  Town  Hall,  in  a  narrow  street  hard  by  the 
Convent  of  St.  Andrews.  The  talk  ran  upon  the  warrant,  and 
the  most  interested  listener  was  a  burly,  ragged  tinker,  with 
turned-up  nose,  rough,  shaggy  face  and  hair,  and  dirty  leathern 
apron.  Traveling  from  town  to  town  all  over  the  country,  he 
earned  but  little  with  mending  of  pots  and  pans,  and  what  little 
he  earned  was  soon  exchanged  for  ale  and  beer. 

"What  do  I  hear,"  quoth  he,  "two  hundred  pounds  to  catch  a 
thief?  Dick  o'  Banbury,  thou  hast  been  tinker  long  enough;  a 
thief-catcher  is  a  better  trade.  No  more  kettles  to  mend  for  me! 
If  my  crab-tree  staff  doth  not  crack  a  hole  in  this  rogue  of  an  out- 
law's pate,  then  I  am  no  man  of  metal.  For  now  my  motto  is  to 
crack  instead  of  to  mend." 

So  he  hied  him  to  the  Town  Hall  door,  where  he  found  the 
proclamation  posted. 

"Truly,"  quoth  he,  "I  am  no  scholar,  and  must  e'en  search  for 
one  that  can  read  and  expound  the  substance." 

As  he  stood  there  scratching  his  head  a  cowled  monk  stepped 
up  to  him. 

"What  wouldst  thou  here,  my  son?"  asked  he. 

"Fain  would  I  read  what  is  here  written,  but  I  cannot." 

"That  is  easily  mended,"  quoth  the  monk,  "for  I  will  read  it  to 
thee." 

After  carefully  listening  and  nodding  his  approval  at  each  item, 
Dick  the  tinker  started  off  at  full  speed  to  the  Sheriff's  house. 
The  steward  came  forth  angrily  at  the  loud  crack  of  Dick's  staff 
on  the  door.  Before  the  tinker  could  find  his  tongue  the  steward 
said,  gruffly: 

[100] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Go  thy  way.  We  have  no  pots  and  kettles  that  want  mending 
in  this  place." 

"Look  you,  fellow,  I  mend  no  pots,  but  I  would  ask  the  Sheriff 
to  give  me  the  King's  warrant  to  catch  that  vile  outlaw,  Robin 
Hood." 

"Truly,  good  tinker,  that's  a  cat  of  another  color.  Step  in, 
brave  tinker,  bold  tinker" — then,  to  himself — "fool  tinker,  thou 
art  in  the  way  of  trouble." 

Dick  o'  Banbury  was  the  first  to  come  seeking  the  warrant, 
and  you  may  well  believe  the  Sheriff  was  right  glad  to  receive 
him.  "Ay,"  thought  he,  looking  Dick  up  and  down,  "he's  lusty, 
and  looketh  bold,  but  is  he  sly?" 

"Well,  my  brave  lad,"  he  said,  aloud,  "so  thou  seekest  to  win 
our  reward?" 

"Ay,  marry,  that  I  do,  my  Lord  Sheriff.  If  the  saucy  deer- 
thief  be  still  alive  I  shall  nab  him  with  the  help  of  this,  my  good 
crab-tree  staff." 

"I  warrant  he's  alive,"  quoth  the  Sheriff.  "Thou  lookest  bold 
and  strong  withal,  but  art  thou  sly?" 

"Ay,  that  I  be,"  said  Dick,  "slyer  than  a  fox.  Was  ever~a 
weasel  caught  asleep,  was  ever  a  dog  seen  to  run  from  a  meaty 
bone,  or  a  cat  from  a  sparrow,  or  a  mouse  to  leave  a  bit  of  cheese  ? 
So  surely  am  I  sly !" 

"Well,  tinker,  here  is  the  warrant,"  said  the  Sheriff.  "And 
now  thou  hast  it,  see  that  thou  dost  act  as  boldly  as  thou  speakest. 
Catch  this  fellow,  snare  him,  trap  him,  beat  him,  or  kill  him, 
I  care  not.  If  thou  dost  bring  him  to  me  dead  or  alive,  thou  shalt 
surely  have  the  reward  and  we  will  attach  thee  to  our  service  at 
good  wage,  to  boot." 

Then,  calling  the  steward  to  give  Dick  a  foaming  tankard  of 
good  ale,  he  hurried  him  off  on  his  quest.  The  ale  put  the  bold 
tinker  in  fine  fettle,  so  that  as  he  strode  along  he  twirled  his  staff 
round  his  head  so  fast  that  the  passers-by  blinked  and  stood 
aloof. 

But,  being  full  of  vainglory  and  pride  because  he  held  the  King's 
warrant,  he  could  not  refrain  from  stopping  once  again  at  the 

[103] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Blue  Boar  Inn.  He  had  no  money  to  wet  his  whistle;  yet, 
though  talking  was  dry  work,  he  wished  to  make  it  known  to  all 
that  he,  the  man  of  metal  from  Banbury,  would  show  these  north- 
country  folk  how  to  crack  pates. 

Just  as  he  had  sat  him  down  a  fine  fellow,  dressed  all  in  red 
with  a  long  sword  at  his  side,  came  up  and  stood  anigh  him. 
Straightway  Dick's  tongue  began  to  wag. 

"Good  sir,"  quoth  he,  "if  thou  dwellest  in  these  parts,  mayhap 
thou  hast  heard  of  a  varlet  named  Robin  Hood." 

"Surely,"  quoth  the  man  in  red,  "thou  art  a  stranger  that 
asketh  this.  All  men  hereabout  do  know  Robin  Hood,  by  report, 
for  a  rascally,  bold  outlaw.  But  what  is  thy  name  and  whence 
comest  thou?" 

"I  am  from  the  south,  and  Dick  the  Tinker  o'  Banbury  am 
I  called.  Having  cracked  all  the  noddles  in  those  parts,  I  have 
come  hither,  by  the  mass,  to  crack  more." 

"I  thought  thy  trade  was  to  mend,  not  to  crack,"  quoth  the 
stranger.  "I  have  doleful  news  for  thee." 

"Marry,  I  warrant  thou  canst  say  naught  that  would  grieve 
me." 

"  'Tis  that  two  of  thy  tinker  brethren  were  set  in  stocks  for 
getting  drunk  on  ale/" 

"I  care  naught  for  thy  gibes,"  snarled  Dick.  "There  be  no 
true  tinkers  but  could  drink  all  day,  and  still  be  sober.  I'll  war- 
rant thou  durst  not  try  me." 

"Well,"  said  the  stranger,  laughing,  "now  that  my  news  is 
stale,  what  is  thy  news  ?  For  in  thy  gadabout  Jife  thou  hast 
surely  gathered  some  moss  of  that  kind.  Perchance  a  tankard 
of  ale  will  grease  thy  throat  and  make  the  news  run  more 
smoothly." 

"Ay,  that  it  will.  Well,"  said  Dick,  after  a  deep  draught, 
wiping  his  grizzly  beard  on  the  dirty  sleeve  of  his  doublet,  "I 
will  tell  thee  a  thing  to  make  thee  marvel.  Thou  seest  me,  a 
poor  man — a  mender  of  pots  and  pans,  forsooth — yet  I  tell  thee 
I  am  about  to  pick  up  two  hundred  pounds  without  even  stoop- 
ing— in  faith,  as  easily  as  a  rabbit  slips  down  his  warren." 

[104] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"By  St.  Withold,  saist  thou  so?  Come,  out  with  it;  let's 
hear  of  so  marvelous  a  trick." 

"Why,"  quoth  Dick,  "  'tis  no  great  matter,  if  a  man  be  bold 
and  strong  and  cunning  withal.  Marry,  'tis  this:  I  hold  the 
King's  warrant  to  seize  that  naughty  thief  and  outlaw  rogue, 
Robin  Hood.  An  I  clap  eyes  upon  him,  I'll  Robin  him.  I'll 
singe  his  red  breast,  and  make  him  whistle  another  tune.  Some- 
where near  by  in  this  forest  he  lies.  Can'st  thou  not  guide  me 
to  where  this  fox  hath  a  hole?  Do  so,  and  I'll  give  thee  some  part 
of  the  reward — a  vast  sum,  truly — two  hundred  pounds,  and 
the  Sheriff's  dear  love,  to  boot.  Nay,  by  the  mass,  I  can  feel 
the  gold  coins  clink  in  my  pouch  already.  Hast  ever  seen  the 
villain?" 

"Ay,  marry,  that  I  have,"  replied  the  stranger. 

"And  what  is  he  like?"  asked  Dick. 

"In  truth,  he  is  of  about  my  size;  folk  say  we  are  as  like  as 
two  peas  from  a  pod." 

"Bah!"  quoth  the  tinker.  "I  thought  he  was  a  very  bearded 
giant.  An  he  be  like  thee,  I  vow  to  bind  up  one  arm,  and  cudgel 
him  with  t'other." 

"Yet  they  tell  me,"  was  the  reply,  "that  he  swings  a  quarter- 
staff  right  smartly,  and  hath  some  skill  with  the  sword.  In 
good  sooth,  tinker,  he  carries  a  long-bow  full  seven  feet  long — 
but  let  me  see  thy  warrant  to  know  if  it  be  right." 

"That  I  will  not,"  the  tinker  said,  "for  none  will  I  trust 
with  it." 

"But  drink,  brave  tinker,  thou  art  not  afraid  of  the  stocks." 

"How  can  I  drink  from  an  empty  mug?" 

"Thou  saist  truly,"  quoth  the  stranger.  "Bide  here  awhile, 
and  I  will  ask  mine  host  to  tap  a  certain  brew  of  foaming  Ut- 
toxeter  ale,  that  I  wot  of."  With  that  he  slipped  inside  the  tap- 
room and  told  the  host  to  mix  some  strong  liquor  in  the  ale, 
which  he  then  took  out  to  the  tinker. 

"Marry,"  quoth  Dick,  "that  is  the  right  ale  for  stout  hearts." 

"Drink  up,  spare  it  not,  there  is  more  on  tap,"  cried  the 
stranger,  just  sipping  a  little  to  keep  company.  "Ay,  empty 

[105] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

again!  Good  mine  host,  fill  up  the  tankard  with  that  right 
good  liquor.  The  tinker  likes  it  well." 

By  the  time  the  next  cup  was  finished,  the  tinker  waxed  so 
jolly  that  he  began  to  sing  snatches  of  a  merry  ditty  of  the 
southland.  Then,  gradually  becoming  quieter,  his  eyes  closed, 
his  head  nodded  to  one  side,  and  in  a  twinkling  he  was  fast  asleep, 
snoring  loudly.  Thereupon  the  stranger  rose  silently  from  his 
seat.  With  a  smile  on  his  face  he  reached  over,  unbuttoned  the 
tinker's  pouch,  and  drew  forth  the  warrant.  Then  on  tiptoe  he 
stole  into  the  Blue  Boar  Inn  and  paid  the  host  his  score. 

"But  wake  not  the  tinker,"  quoth  he,  "till  I  be  out  of  call." 

In  a  little  while  mine  host  bethought  him  that  it  ill  became  his 
well-kept  house  to  have  a  dirty-looking  tinker  fast  asleep  at  his 
front  door,  so  he  stepped  outside  and  shook  him  roughly. 

"No  more,"  yawned  Dick,  "my  jolly  blade.  We  had  enow; 
I  am  content,  good  comrade." 

With  another  hearty  shake,  mine  host  angrily  replied: 

"Nay,  do  not  comrade  me,  thou  drunken  rogue.  Get  thee 
gone." 

The  tinker,  now  half  awake,  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  the  fat 
landlord  of  the  Blue  Boar  Inn.  "Where,  what,  how,  why  am  I 
here?"  he  muttered.  "And  where  is  that  scarlet  fellow  that  was 
here  but  now?  Methought  he  would  lead  me  to  that  bold  thief, 
Robin  Hood." 

"That  jolly  blade  with  whom  thou  didst  drink,"  said  mine 
host,  "was  none  other  than  Robin  Hood  himself." 

"What  saist  thou — Robin  Hood — for  whom  I  hold  in  this 
very  wallet  a  warrant!" 

Then  looking  down,  he  saw  that  the  pouch  was  open  and  the 
warrant  gone.  Straightway  he  leaped  up  and  stared  about  him 
wildly.  He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pouch  and  drew  it  forth 
empty.  He  looked  in  his  bag  of  tools,  under  the  table,  under  the 
chair.  Then,  taking  up  his  staff  and  swinging  it  above  his  head, 
he  roared: 

"My  warrant  hath  been  stolen  from  me  while  I  slept,  and 
thou,  pig-faced  villain,  doubtless  watched  that  sly  red  fox  take 

[106] 


WITH  A  SMILE  ON  HIS  FACE  HE  REACHED  OVER  AND 
DREW  FORTH  THE  WARRANT 


ROBIN    HOOD 

the  King's  warrant  from  my  very  body.  Thou  scurvy  hog,  I 
will  beat  thy  back  till  it  be  as  blue  as  the  boar  on  thy  swinging 
sign." 

"Pay  thy  score  or  I  will  have  thee  put  in  the  stocks  as  a 
drunken  knave." 

This  answer  brought  the  tinker  to  a  quieter  mood.  "Did 
not  the  naughty  thief  pay  for  me?"  he  asked. 

"No,  not  a  farthing,  he!"  said  mine  host. 

"Alack-a-day!"  quoth  Dick,  with  a  rueful  face.  "Not  a 
farthing  have  I.  Oh,  could  I  but  meet  him  now,  I  would  square 
the  score  with  both  him  and  thee!" 

"Thou  wilt  best  do  that  by  leaving  here  thy  bag  o'  tools 
and  thy  quarter-staff." 

"Nay,  good  landlord,  without  tools  and  staff  I  can  neither 
work  nor  fight.  Let  be  the  staff,  that  I  may  have  wherewith  to 
beat  the  thief  to  jelly,  if  by  good  hap  I  meet  him,  and  so  get 
the  reward  to  pay  thy  score." 

"Very  good,"  said  mine  host,  somewhat  softened.  "Bring 
me  back  ten  shillings,  and  thou  shalt  have  thy  bag  of  tools  again." 

"But,"  quoth  Dick,  "in  sooth  I  know  not  which  way  to  turn 
to  catch  this  wily  thief." 

"The  only  way,"  said  mine  host,  "is  to  seek  him  among  the 
parks,  where  thou  mayest  find  him  killing  the  King's  deer." 

So  the  tinker  departed  from  the  Blue  Boar  Inn  with  a  sore 
heart  and  downcast  mien.  But  soon  he  grew  more  cheerful. 
"I  care  not  for  the  warrant,"  he  muttered,  "could  I  but  see 
him  once  again,"  and  he  strode  on  at  a  quicker  pace,  ever  and 
anon  playing  his  crab-tree  staff  right  merrily  as  though  Robin 
even  then  stood  before  him.  After  an  hour  or  more  he  had  wan- 
dered aimlessly  some  distance  along  a  forest  path  and  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  a  leafy  bed  in  the  forest  that  night. 

"Patience,  good  Dick!"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  on  the  mor- 
row thou  shalt  belabor  this  knave!" 

Scarce  had  he  spoken  when  he  saw  a  red-coated  fellow  approach- 
ing through  the  leafy  glade.  "Holy  Saint  Swithin!"  he  whis- 
pered. "I  vow  'tis  the  pretty  Robin  redbreast,  as  sure  as  a 

[109] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

cuckoo  steals  eggs.  May  that  good  saint  clip  his  wings  that 
he  fly  not  nor  escape  me.  An  he  be  nimble,  so  am  I.  He  comes 
nearer.  Shall  I  hide?  Nay,  I'll  go  forward  and  meet  him;  if  the 
villain  run,  I'll  run  faster." 

They  were  now  but  a  few  paces  apart.  So  far,  Robin  had  not 
noticed  the  tinker,  but  looking  up  he  caught  his  angry  glare  full 
upon  him.  So  furious,  indeed,  was  Dick  that  he  stood  speechless 
in  front  of  Robin,  who  calmly  said : 

"What  knave  is  this  that  doth  come  so  near  my  path  in  the 
forest?" 

"  Knave  or  no  knave,  thou  scurvy  red  villain,  my  crab-tree  staff 
shall  show  which  of  us  hath  wronged  the  other." 

Then  like  lightning  did  the  tinker  whirl  his  quarter-staff  so 
near  that  Robin  barely  had  time  to  draw  his  sword  and  save 
his  head.  Dick  the  tinker  was  in  a  tearing  rage,  for  he  had  more 
than  one  count  to  settle — first,  to  gain  the  reward;  second,  to  get 
revenge  for  the  stealing  of  his  warrant;  third,  to  punish  Robin  for 
the  loss  of  his  tools  of  trade  and  forced  payment  of  the  score  at 
the  Blue  Boar  Inn. 

In  truth,  he  was  an  ill  fellow  to  meet  in  fight,  for  he  was  taller 
and  bigger  of  bone  than  Robin.  He  had  a  bullet-head  set  upon 
a  bull  neck,  from  which  big  blue  veins  bulged  out  with  exercise 
and  fiery  passion.  Moreover,  what  with  long  practice  in  every 
town  he  visited  and  brawls  with  every  sort  of  men,  his  quarter- 
staff  play  was  of  the  best.  As  for  Robin,  he  had  but  his  broad- 
sword— a  weapon  unsuited  to  parry  the  heavy  two-handed 
strokes  of  the  mighty  tinker. 

Never  in  his  life  did  Robin  flinch  or  give  way  to  any  man  he 
met,  but  now  he  found  that  he  had  thought  too  lightly  of  the 
tinker's  strength  and  skill.  Thus  it  was  that  from  the  beginning 
he  was  forced  to  defend  himself  very  shrewdly.  Dick's  powerful 
staff,  seven  feet  long,  with  great  ugly  knots  at  each  end,  was 
played  with  wonderful  nimbleness,  and  soon  he  gave  Robin  a 
fearful  crack  that  half  stunned  him  and  made  him  reel  forward. 

Then  Robin  put  forth  his  utmost  strength,  clashing  his  broad- 
sword against  the  staff  so  that  the  splinters  flew,  guarding  many  a 

[no] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

blow  and  rapidly  flashing  his  sword  so  close  to  the  tinker's  head 
that  he  seemed  every  moment  to  miss  it  only  by  a  hair.  The 
blade  was  of  finely  tempered  steel,  and  it  neither  snapped  nor 
showed  a  dent.  Oft  the  edge  would  have  carved  a  sore  wound 
but  that  the  tinker's  staff  was  handled  with  wondrous  deftness. 
The  furious  encounter  went  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  save 
for  the  sound  of  wood  beating  upon  steel  and  the  heavy  panting 
and  grunts  of  the  foemen.  The  outlaw  seemed  to  gain  slightly, 
pushing  his  more  burly  antagonist  backward,  though  the  crab-tree 
staff  whirled  around  as  before.  The  tinker  was  very  hard  pressed, 
and  almost  fit  to  flee,  yet  he  fought  right  manfully,  and  at  last 
with  a  sudden  turn  he  brought  the  heavy  cudgel  down  in  a  swift 
and  cruel  blow  that  fell  upon  Robin's  arm  and  numbed  it  so  that 
his  fingers  lacked  strength  to  grasp  the  hilt.  Then  the  sword 
dropped  to  the  ground. 

"A  boon,  a  boon,"  Robin  cried.     "Do  but  grant  me  a  boon!" 

"Not  I,"  quoth  the  tinker.  "Before  I  do  I'll  hang  thee  on 
this  tree."  Then,  tired  as  he  was,  he  began  to  dance  about  in 
high  glee,  shouting  in  a  merry  voice,  "The  reward  is  now  mine 
own,  for  the  outlaw  rogue  is  under  my  thumb." 

As  for  Robin,  he  spake  no  word,  but  he  set  his  bugle  to  his  lips 
and  blew  three  loud  blasts. 

"How  now!"  growled  the  tinker.  "I  like  not  thy  music,  so 
come  with  me  straightway,  or  I'll  sauce  thy  goose  with  my  cudgel 
again."  So  saying,  he  pointed  his  staff  unpleasantly  close  to 
Robin's  head. 

At  that  moment  three  men  came  running  at  full  speed  toward 
the  spot. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Robin,"  quoth  Little  John,  "that  thou 
sittest  so  sore  astonied  and  sad-looking  on  the  highway  side?" 

"Matter  enow,"  said  Robin.  "There  stands  a  tough  rogue 
with  his  quarter-staff  that  hath  belabored  my  hide  and  made  it 
full  sore.  I  warrant  he  hath  broken  my  arm,  so  much  it  paineth 
me." 

"Good  faith,"  quoth  Little  John,  "I  fain  would  try  if  he'll 
do  so  much  for  me."  Gripping  his  quarter-staff  by  the  middle,  he 

[in] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

wrathfully  approached  the  tinker,  who  backed  against  a  tree  and 
roared: 

"Come  on,  thou  daddy-long-legs.  I'll  tie  thy  spindle-shanks 
in  a  Staffordshire  knot  and  serve  thee  as  I  served  thy  master." 

Their  quarter-staffs  had  scarcely  crossed  when  Robin  cried  out: 
"Hold,  good  comrade!  The  man  had  good  cause  to  beat  me 
so.  I  took  from  him  the  warrant  for  my  arrest  with  which  he 
hoped  to  mend  his  poor  estate.  Come  forth,  tinker,  I  am  too 
sore  as  yet  to  move.  I  love  to  have  brave  and  handy  men  in  my 
band,  and  thou  art  both,  meseems.  But,  tinker,  remember  the 
odds  are  now  against  thee.  Our  holy  Friar,  my  cousin  Will 
Scarlet,  and  my  right-hand  man,  Little  John,  all  three  hunger  to 
beat  thee  to  jelly.  Yet  I  would  now  have  peace.  Without  the 
reward,  what  is  thy  lot?" 

"In  sooth,"  quoth  Dick,  "a  sad  one.  Without  tools  I  cannot 
work  to  redeem  them." 

"Look  you,  then,"  said  Robin.  "I  would  have  thee  join  our 
band  in  merry  Sherwood.  A  fair  share  in  all  we  take  shalt  thou 
have — plenty  of  venison  to  eat,  good  ale  to  drink,  a  suit  of  Lincoln 
green,  and  a  hundred  pounds  to  boot.  What  saist  thou — wilt 
thou  join  us  ?" 

"Marry,  that  I  will,  right  gladly,"  quoth  the  tinker,  joyfully. 
"A  bold  outlaw's  life  will  suit  me  well,  and  I  will  ever  be  thy  true 
servant." 

So  Dick  the  Tinker  o'  Banbury  joined  the  band,  and  you  will 
hereafter  see  how  well  he  played  his  part  among  the  merry,  brave 
outlaws  in  Sherwood  Forest. 


XI 

LITTLE    JOHN   AND   THE    SHERIFF'S    COOK 

)BIN'S  arm  was  broken,  indeed,  so  that  for 
weeks  he  had  to  have  it  bandaged  and  keep 
it  in  a  sling.  But  the  tinker,  who  grieved 
sorely  that  he  had  caused  this  hurt,  bound  it 
up  and  dressed  it  right  skilfully.  For  you 
must  know  he  had  himself  been  wounded  so 
|  oft  that  there  were  few  men  who  knew  more 
of  broken  bones  or  bruises.  So  from  that  time  forth  he  was 
often  called  upon  to  act  as  bone-setter  or  leech.  It  was  Dick's 
peculiar  pride  to  show  the  wondrous  number  of  dents  and  holes 
in  his  pate.  Indeed,  he  always  spoke  of  his  head  as  "my  pepper 
caster."  In  less  than  a  week  every  outlaw  in  the  band  had  felt 
for  these  same  holes  and  dents  through  Dick's  shaggy  hair,  and 
much  they  marveled  at  his  pluck  and  the  thickness  of  his  skull. 
Nearly  always,  when  Robin  Hood  gained  a  stout  fellow  for  his 
band,  he  got  a  sound  beating  at  the  same  time,  but  he  never 
changed  his  brave  demeanor  nor  ceased  to  try  each  man  in 
hand-to-hand  fight  to  prove  his  worthiness  to  join  the  company  of 
gallant  outlaws.  All  must  be  bold  and  brave  like  himself,  so 
that  when  a  final  test  should  come  each  should  be  found  true 
as  steel.  But  in  shooting  with  the  long-bow  Robin  excelled 
8  [113] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

them  all,  and  was  never  beaten  either  in  accuracy  or  distance. 
Thus  till  the  day  of  his  death  all  his  men  loved  him  for  himself 
and  nigh  worshiped  him  for  his  skill  with  the  bow. 

At  this  period  of  England's  greatness,  the  bowmen  were  most 
feared  on  the  field  of  battle.  Many  famous  warriors  were  shot 
to  death  by  arrows.  At  the  battle  of  Hastings,  King  Harold 
was  shot  through  the  eye,  and  many  others  fell  pierced  by  shafts 
from  the  long-bow.  The  second  Norman  King,  William  Rufus, 
was  shot  through  the  heart  with  an  arrow  while  hunting  in  the 
New  Forest.  Even  the  lion-hearted  King  Richard  himself, 
after  so  many  hand-to-hand  fights,  was  slain  at  last  by  an  arrow 
shot  by  a  young  French  archer. 

And  as  the  bow  was  the  greatest  of  weapons,  so  Robin  was 
known  far  and  wide  as  the  greatest  of  archers.  Never  was  there 
another  like  him  either  before  or  after  his  time.  He  was  not 
only  a  brave  captain,  but  a  wise  one;  and  he  looked  well  to  the 
comfort  of  his  men,  that  they  might  have  good  store  of  food 
and  clothing.  Each  and  every  one  was  called  upon  to  do  his 
share  in  providing  for  their  daily  needs.  Those  who  were  deft 
in  making  arrows  and  bows  had  their  duties.  In  forging  or 
mending  steel  weapons  each  took  a  part.  Others  had  to  bake, 
roast,  and  boil  the  victuals  for  so  large  a  company.  Their  food 
was  mostly  venison,  game,  and  wild  fowl,  fish  in  plenty  from  the 
rivers,  and  oaten,  rye,  or  wheaten  cakes.  Wild  berries,  fruit,  and 
nuts,  and  wild  honey  eked  out  their  supply.  On  such  wholesome 
fare  did  the  outlaws  thrive,  and  as  each  season  advanced  a 
goodly  supply  was  stored. 

During  the  cold,  dark,  stormy  days  of  winter  they  kept  them 
to  their  caves  and  snug  retreats,  sitting  round  the  blazing  logs 
for  warmth  and  light  as  darkness  fell.  They  wiled  away  the 
long  evenings  with  never-ending  tales  of  love  and  war;  of  ancient 
sagas  and  legends,  interspersed  with  the  ever-welcome  harp  notes 
and  songs  of  Allan-a-Dale,  their  minstrel.  In  such  fashion  the 
days  passed  quickly  and  merrily  by.  It  was  now  nutting-time, 
and  the  yellow  leaves  had  begun  to  fall;  but  Robin  still  kept 
him  to  his  bower  nursing  his  wounded  arm.  Outside  Sherwood 

[114] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Forest,  Nottingham  town  was  busily  astir  with  its  great  annual 
feast  and  October  fair.  The  great  King  Richard  had  taken  a 
mighty  army  of  nearly  all  the  young  men  in  the  country  on  his 
crusade  to  fight  the  Turks  in  the  Holy  Land.  But  Robin  cared 
little  enough  in  his  pleasant  forest  retreat  for  wars  or  the  doings 
of  kings  and  armies. 

On  a  day,  when  the  merry  men  had  returned  from  gathering 
great  skin  bags  full  of  hazel,  beech,  and  chestnuts  for  roasting 
at  the  winter's  fire,  Little  John  came  to  the  bower  to  beg  his 
master's  leave  to  see  the  fair.  Thereat  Robin  considered  for  a 
space  and  seemed  right  loath.  At  last  he  said: 

"Yea,  go,  if  thou  hast  such  a  stomach  for  the  adventure;  but 
see  that  thy  disguise  be  good,  for  the  loss  of  my  right-hand  man 
would  be  a  sore  hurt  to  me  and  all  our  band." 

"Marry,  I  will  go  clad  as  a  sturdy,  tattered  beggar  with  a 
crooked  shoulder  and  a  limp  of  one  leg." 

So  Little  John  cast  off  his  well-fitting  suit  of  Lincoln  green 
and  donned  such  a  rag-tag  jumble  of  clothes  that  the  merry  men 
roared  with  laughter  when  they  beheld  him.  Then,  with  sword 
at  his  side  and  bow  slung  across  his  shoulders,  he  strode  off  through 
the  forest  in  high  spirits  toward  Nottingham  Fair. 

The  fair  brought  always  a  vast  throng  of  idlers  and  merry- 
makers to  the  town.  Since  it  lasted  a  week,  or  rather  from 
Monday  to  Saturday  night,  there  was  need  of  many  shows, 
games,  trials  of  skill,  and  wonders  of  all  sorts  to  entertain  the 
great  throng  that  poured  in  from  all  over  the  country,  even  from 
the  far-away  towns  of  Derby,  Lincoln,  and  York. 

Little  John  passed  down  the  long  line  of  booths,  gaily  decked 
with  buntings,  where  ribbons,  gewgaws,  and  such  things  as 
women  and  children  love  were  sold.  Then  he  sauntered  to  a 
part  of  the  fair  where  only  men  and  boys  seemed  to  gather. 
Here  a  raised  stand  had  been  set  up  with  a  wooden  railing  about 
twenty  feet  square.  Its  rough,  wooden  floor  had  been  sprinkled 
over  with  a  good  supply  of  fine  white  sand.  Here  were  held 
public  contests  in  boxing,  wrestling,  and  quarter-staff  play;  and 
here  among  the  laughing,  noisy  crowd  stood  bold  Little  John 

f"5] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

in  his  beggar  disguise,  watching  intently  a  famous  wielder  of 
the  quarter-staff,  Eric  o'  Lincoln,  who  was  cracking  the  pates 
of  any  and  all  the  Nottingham  lads  who  dared  try  their 
hands  and  risk  their  heads  against  this  champion  from  Lincoln 
town. 

Eric  was  one  of  those  who  visited  fairs  and  such  like  gatherings 
in  different  towns  to  fight  with  quarter-staff  for  prizes  and  wagers. 
He  was  a  tall,  well-made  fellow  with  broad  shoulders  and  sinewy 
arms.  His  knotted  muscles,  through  constant  exercise  with  a 
heavy  staff,  were  of  unusual  size,  and  he  was  right  vain  of  them. 
He  had  just  toppled  over  on  the  boards,  with  little  effort,  two 
brawny  Staffordshire  fellows  from  Stoke  and  Trentham,  and  now 
stood  bolt  upright  holding  his  staff  in  front  of  him,  shouting  in 
a  defiant  voice:  "Marry,  come  up,  my  lads!  The  day  is  not  far 
spent,  yet  I  tarry  too  long  for  a  bout.  Are  all  the  brave  lads 
dead,  or  are  one  and  all  afeard  to  meet  Eric  o'  Lincoln?" 

The  bustling  crowd  fell  silent  for  a  space,  staring  at  one  an- 
other, but  none  ventured  to  mount  the  stand.  Still  Eric  urged 
them  to  come  on,  even  with  promises  of  a  prize  could  they  with- 
stand him  for  but  a  brief  space.  At  last  Little  John  could  con- 
tain himself  no  longer.  He  turned  to  the  crowd,  saying,  "Will 
any  lad  lend  me  a  stout  staff  to  try  a  bout  with  this  crowing 
braggart?" 

Such  a  speech  from  a  ragged,  crooked  beggar  raised  a  laugh. 
Nevertheless,  many  held  out  their  weapons.  Little  John  quietly 
looked  them  over,  and'  chose  the  one  used  by  the  man  from 
Stoke,  a  wicked-looking  staff  of  hickory,  heavy  and  long,  neatly 
crossed  with  hide  thongs  to  make  the  hand-grasp  less  slippery. 
Still  pretending  a  bent  and  crooked  form,  he  climbed  up  the 
steps  and  placed  himself  in  a  fighting  attitude  on  the  stand  facing 
stout  Eric,  who  said,  loud  enough  for  all  to  hear: 

"To  think  I  be  forced  to  cross  my  staff  with  a  saucy  beggar! 
I  vow  to  befriend  him  with  a  few  pennies  when  he  is  carriedjjff 
the  stand  with  a  cracked  noddle." 

"Peace,  thou  chattering  cockatoo,  and  defend  thyself!"  quoth 
Little  John  sternly;  and,  falling  to  right  merrily,  he  deftly  rapped 

[116] 


HE  SMOTE  ERIC  FULL  AND  SQUARE  ON  HIS  SKULL 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Eric  a  stiff  blow  upon  the  shoulder,  which  made  the  crowd  stare 
and  then  laugh. 

Eric  eyed  the  beggar  more  closely  and  noticed  that  his  broad 
shoulders  began  to  straighten  up  to  a  height  even  greater  than 
his  own.  Then  began  the  battle  in  good  earnest,  each  man  feeling 
that  he  had  met  a  worthy  foe.  The  blows  fell  thick  and  fast, 
so  that  time  and  again  the  men  in  the  crowd  caught  their  breath, 
thinking  that  one  or  the  other  of  the  combatants  must  surely 
fall.  But  every  stroke  was  stoutly  met  and  parried.  Quoth  one, 
"Never  was  such  play  seen  before  in  this  town."  Another  asked, 
"Who  can  this  tall  lad  be?" 

Meanwhile,  the  fight  continued  with  no  advantage  on  either 
side.  The  beggar  now  seemed  a  very  giant  that  with  crashing 
blows  time  after  time  made  Eric's  staff  tremble.  The  temper  of 
the  crowd  had  changed.  It  was  all  for  the  beggar  now,  and  en- 
couraged him  with  ringing  cheers  and  promises  of  plenty  of 
money  and  good  things  should  he  win  this  famous  bout. 

At  last,  amid  a  din  of  yelling  jeers  and  groans,  Eric  crashed  a 
heavy  blow  on  John's  broad  chest,  but  as  the  blow  fell  so  did 
John  bring  his  staff  down  on  Eric's  skull  with  a  resounding  whack 
that  was  heard  by  all  the  throng.  Another  shout  went  up,  then 
all  fell  silent. 

Before  John  could  strike  another  blow  Eric  had  gotten  over  the 
stupor  caused  by  the  stroke.  He  ducked,  then  ran  back  while 
John's  staff  crashed  on  the  floor  with  a  terrific  bang.  The  staff 
was  a  good  one,  and  held  sound,  else  Little  John  would  then  have 
bit  the  sandy  floor,  so  savagely  did  Eric  now  run  upon  him. 
Careless  of  his  guard,  in  a  fury  of  madness,  Eric  put  forth  all  his 
strength  and  skill,  and  for  a  few  minutes  the  air  was  filled  with 
cracking  blows  that  none  but  a  tower  of  strength  like  John  could 
have  withstood  for  a  moment.  But  he  stood  there  on  guard, 
calm  and  crafty,  waiting  an  opening  for  a  final  blow,  which  he 
well  knew  from  such  careless,  angry  fighting  would  sooner  or  later 
come. 

In  quarter-staff  battles  a  loss  of  temper  was  fatal.  Both 
fighters  knew  that  a  cool,  watchful  guard  was  the  only  way  to 

["9] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

victory.  But  Eric  understood  by  now  that,  in  truth,  it  was  no 
beggar  who  opposed  him,  and  his  anger  swept  away  his  prudence. 
That  Little  John  bided  his  time  so  coolly  but  enraged  him  the 
more.  For  some  minutes  his  fearful,  crashing  blows  fell  without  a 
break  or  pause.  Many  and  many  a  time  did  John  just  escape  an 
ugly  stroke  that  would  have  laid  him  low.  But  he  steadily  par- 
ried and  feinted  until  at  last  his  time  came.  Then  with  a  quick, 
downward,  heavy  swing  of  both  ponderous  arms  he  smote  Eric 
full  and  square  on  his  skull,  so  that  his  body  dropped,  limp,  with 
a  thud  upon  the  sandy  floor. 

Instantly  from  the  quiet,  hard-breathing  crowd  came  a  volley 
of  deafening  cheers.  The  battle  had  lasted  fully  two  hours  and 
had  drawn  nearly  every  man  from  all  parts  of  the  fair.  Many  now 
crowded  round  Little  John  with  offers  of  money  and  other  good 
things  as  he  gave  back  the  staff  to  the  man  who  had  loaned  it 
and  had  held  his  long-bow  while  he  fought.  Then,  tired  and 
thirsty,  John  and  the  man  from  Stoke  together  strode  away,  and 
were  soon  lost  in  the  press  of  people.  They  made  their  way  to 
the  Blue  Boar  Inn  to  refresh  themselves,  it  being  now  somewhat 
past  the  hour  of  noon. 

"Thou  art  no  beggar,"  quoth  the  sharp-eyed  man  from  Stoke, 
"and  dost  go  in  such  guise  for  some  purpose  of  thine  own.  Tell 
me,  brave  comrade,  thy  name,  for  if  thou  canst  use  thy  long-bow 
with  half  the  skill  wherewith  thou  didst  wield  my  staff,  the 
archery  prize  is  thine  to  take  this  afternoon." 

"What  saist  thou?"  quoth  John.  "Is  there  a  shooting-match 
this  afternoon?" 

"Ay,  that  there  be,"  said  his  companion.  "The  Sheriff  offers 
a  prize,  and  we  will  together  go  and  try  for  it." 

"Marry,  that  we  will,"  quoth  Little  John. 

So  now  together  they  strode  toward  the  shooting-butts,  where 
they  found  the  archers  ready  to  begin.  Then,  entering  their 
names  as  competitors,  they  made  ready  for  the  shooting.  The 
place  was  crowded  with  a  great  mass  of  men  and  women,  all 
eager  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  those  who  were  about  to  shoot,  for 
in  those  days  every  skilled  archer  was  known  far  and  wide,  so 

[120] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

that  as  each  man  took  his  place  folk  told  each  other  what  prizes 
he  had  won  and  what  feats  he  had  performed.  Foremost  in  the 
crowd  were  those  who  had  witnessed  the  quarter-staff  bouts  earlier 
in  the  day,  and  a  shout  went  up  as  they  recognized  the  man  who 
had  overcome  stout  Eric  o'  Lincoln. 

"Ho  for  the  mighty  beggar!"  they  cried.  "Now  for  some  good 
sport.  Now,  Sir  Tatters,  thou  dost  surely  deserve  a  prize." 
Such  words  were  sweet  music  to  the  ear  of  Little  John,  though  he 
showed  it  not,  but  waited  patiently  his  turn. 

Marvelous  shots  were  made — so  keen  indeed  was  the  rivalry 
that  the  beggar's  admirers  cooled  somewhat  toward  him.  Were 
not  the  cream  of  the  best  archers  competing,  drawn  forth  from 
three  surrounding  counties — men  whose  equals  could  scarce  be 
found  in  merry  England!" 

"Now,  rag-bag,  'tis  thy  turn,"  quoth  Adam  Caverswall,  who 
up  to  now  had  beaten  all  the  rest.  "Canst  thou  mend  that 
shot?" 

"Maybe,  and  maybe  not,"  quietly  replied  Little  John. 

Two  targets  had  been  set  up,  and  between  them  a  wand  stood 
upright  holding  a  small  wreath  of  flowers.  Adam  had  planted 
a  shaft  in  the  center  of  each  target,  and  thought  that  he  would 
surely  win.  So  thought  the  crowd  who,  fickle  as  the  wind,  now 
cheered  him  instead  of  the  beggar.  Chuckling  slyly  to  himself, 
but  saying  not  a  word,  Little  John  nocked  his  shaft  so  slowly 
and  deliberately  that  both  the  other  archers  and  the  people 
waxed  impatient,  for  they  longed  to  see  what  he  would  do. 

"Wake  up,  beggar,"  quoth  one.  "Bestir  thyself,  and  let  us 
see  if  thou  canst  hit  the  mark." 

But  no  reply  came  from  Little  John's  smiling  lips  while  his 
bow  bent  farther  out,  till  the  point  of  the  cloth-yard  shaft  nigh 
touched  his  thumb.  Then  he  loosed  the  string  with  a  twang. 
Hastily  fitting  another  arrow,  he  shot  again,  and  still  once  more — 
three  shots,  one  after  another,  without  a  pause.  Then  the  ex- 
pectant crowd  gave  vent  to  a  mighty  roar.  "A  champion,  a  cham- 
pion!" they  cried.  "The  ragged  beggar  shoots  more  true  than 
Robin  Hood."  For  the  first  arrow  had  sped  through  the  middle 

[123] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

of  the  floral  wreath,  and  each  of  the  others  had  cut  one  of  Adam's 
shafts  from  the  target. 

As  for  the  Sheriff,  he  swore  a  deep  oath.  "This  man,"  quoth 
he,  "is  the  best  archer  that  ever  I  saw.  Not  even  that  bold 
knave  Robin  Hood  could  best  him,  and  right  well  hath  he  upheld 
the  honor  of  the  town  in  quarter-staff  play." 

Then  Little  John  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  proud  Sheriff, 
who  thus  addressed  him: 

"Tell  me  now,  strong  young  man,  what  is  thy  name,  and  in 
what  town  wert  thou  born?" 

Little  John  replied,  "In  Holderness  was  I  born,  and  when  I 
am  at  home  men  call  me  Reynard  Greenleaf." 

"Look  you,  Reynard,  'tis  foul  shame  to  see  so  young  and  brave 
a  man  in  rags  a-begging  alms.  I  need  full  sore  stout  hearts  about 
me.  Wilt  thou  enter  my  service?  Besides  proper  attire  and  a 
full  stomach,  every  year  I  will  give  twenty  marks  to  thy  fee." 

Then  Little  John  thought  awhile,  and  at  last  he  smiled.  "Your 
worship,"  quoth  he,  "I  have  a  master,  a  courteous  knight. 
Before  I  may  enter  thy  service,  noble  Sheriff,  I  must  e'en  get 
leave  of  him." 

To  this  the  Sheriff  agreed,  and  he  promised  that  should  Little 
John  get  leave  to  serve  him  for  a  twelvemonth  he  would  make 
a  present  to  the  knight  of  a  good  strong  horse. 

So  Little  John  went  away  and  bided  for  a  day,  after  which  he 
came  back  and  told  the  Sheriff  that  all  was  arranged.  He  took 
the  horse  and  rode  away  to  a  little  cottage  in  which  dwelt  a  spy 
who  knew  the  outlaws'  trysting-^lace.  Setting  him  upon  the 
horse,  he  bade  him  ride  away  to  Robin  Hood,  to  give  him  this 
message:  that  Little  John  had  entered  the  service  of  the  Sheriff, 
and  that  for  the  short  time  he  was  there  he  would  make  the 
worst  servant  the  Sheriff  ever  had.  As  for  the  horse,  Robin  was 
to  keep  it  for  himself.  Little  John  returned  to  the  Sheriff's 
house,  where  he  was  given  a  fine  new  suit  of  clothes  and  was 
made  acquainted  with  the  butler,  the  cook,  and  other  members 
of  the  household. 

On  the  following  day  the  Sheriff  started  out  early  to  go  hunting; 
[124] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

and  Little  John,  being  very  tired,  overslept  himself,  lying  in  his 
bed  till  long  past  the  noon-hour.  At  last  he  got  up  and  dressed, 
then  marched  down  to  the  pantry,  crying  out: 

"Good  Sir  Steward,  I  pray  thee  give  me  to  dine.  Too  long 
hath  Greenleaf  fasted,  therefore  prithee  bestir  thyself." 

The  surly  steward  was  in  a  sour  mood  and  liked  not  to  serve 
dinners  at  odd  hours. 

"Thou  shalt  never  eat  till  my  lord  be  come  to  town,'*  he  said, 
gruffly. 

"I  make  it  my  vow,  thou  saucy  rogue,  to  crack  thy  crown 
unless  both  meat  and  drink  be  set  before  me  straightway." 

The  fat  steward  strode  back  and  forth  in  anger,  then  rushed 
for  the  buttery  and  shut  fast  the  door;  but  with  a  running  kick 
Little  John  smashed  it  open.  It  flew  back  with  a  thunderous 
bang,  and  the  steward  was  sent  flying  over  a  barrel  of  ale.  Then 
Little  John  forced  him  to  drink  so  much  that  if  he  lived  a  hundred 
winters  he  would  never  forget  having  refused  a  meal  to  Reynard 
Greenleaf.  Straightway  the  outlaw  sat  him  down  and  made  a 
hearty  meal  of  all  the  good  things  in  the  buttery,  not  forgetting 
a  full  share  of  ale  and  wine. 

While  he  sat  feasting  at  his  ease,  the  steward  stole  out  through 
the  door  and  hurried  to  the  cook  in  the  kitchen  to  tell  him  what 
had  befallen.  This  cook  was  both  stout  and  bold,  and,  though 
he  had  little  love  for  the  steward,  yet  he  liked  not  that  a  saucy 
rogue  should  lord  it  where  he  was  wont  to  rule.  So  he  strode 
off  to  the  buttery  in  a  fiery  rage,  meaning  to  teach  the  new  servant 
a  lesson  in  manners. 

"I  make  my  vow,"  quoth  the  cook,  when  he  found  Little 
John  still  eating,  "thou  art  a  shrewd  knave.  What!  Thinkest 
thou  to  eat  when  thou  listest,  and  beat  whom  thou  wilt?  I  will 
show  thee  who  is  master  here."  So  saying,  he  let  fly  three  good 
buffets  which  made  Little  John's  ears  ring  and  sent  flying  across 
the  buttery  a  jellied  chicken's  wing,  which  he  had  just  raised 
to  his  lips. 

Little  John  slowly  rose  from  his  feast,  saying,  "In  sooth,  thou 
art  bold,  thou  art  hardy;  but  before  I  make  another  stride  from 

[125] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

this  spot  I  hope  to  settle  two  debts  I  owe  thee.  Thy  cooking  I 
like  pretty  well,  and  thy  cuffs  a  little  more.  Now  draw  thy  sword, 
for  I  mean  to  baste  thy  body  with  hot  gravy." 
1  The  cook  was  not  slow  to  obey,  for  he  was  no  man  to  flee, 
and  in  truth  he  loved  fighting  better  than  feasting.  Together 
they  parried,  slashed,  and  cut  for  over  an  hour,  yet  neither 
harmed  the  other. 

"By  my  faith,"  quoth  bold  John,  "thou  art  one  of  the  best 
swordsmen  that  ever  yet  I  saw.  If  thou  canst  shoot  as  well 
with  a  bow,  to  the  greenwood  I  fain  would  have  thee  go,  to 
join  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  outlaws.  I  could  get  thee  twenty 
golden  marks  every  year  for  thy  fee,  two  changes  of  clothing, 
and  all  the  venison  and  foaming  ale  a  reasonable  body  could 
wish." 

At  that  the  cook  lowered  his  sword,  and  his  eyes  grew  round 
as  saucers. 

"Who  art  thou  that  dost  say  this?"  he  cried.  "Art  thou, 
Reynard  Greenleaf,  one  of  Robin  Hood's  merry  men?" 

"Ay,  that  I  am.     Little  John  am  I,  and  none  other." 

"Put  up  thy  sword,"  cried  the  cook,  "for  I  will  no  longer 
fight  with  thee.  Bless  the  good-fortune  that  brought  us  twain 
together,  for  there  is  naught  in  all  the  world  for  which  my  heart 
so  longeth  as  to  be  one  of  Robin  Hood's  merry  men.  And  art 
thou  in  good  sooth  the  famous  Little  John?" 

"Yea,  and  right  glad  would  I  be  to  resume  the  meal  thou 
didst  so  lovingly  interrupt." 

So  they  began  to  eat  and  drink  together  in  the  friendliest 
fashion.  When  they  had  stuffed  themselves  as  full  as  they 
could  hold,  they  strode  off  to  the  Sheriff's  treasure-house,  but 
found  it  locked  and  barred.  Then  the  cook  said: 

"Tarry  awhile,  and  I  will  go  and  get  a  heavy  hammer 
from  the  kitchen."  He  soon  returned  and  smashed  in  the  door. 
After  helping  themselves  to  a  number  of  silver  vessels,  cups,  and 
other  table  silver,  they  opened  a  drawer  and  emptied  therefrom 
three  hundred  pounds  in  money.  Placing  all  together  in  tw© 
bags,  they  left  the  house,  making  straight  for  the  forest. 

[126] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

They  soon  arrived  at  the  glade,  and  both  were  made  welcome 
by  Robin  Hood. 

"Tell  me,  good  John,"  quoth  he,  "what  tidings  dost  thou  bring 
from  Nottingham  town?" 

"God  save  thee,  my  dear  master,"  quoth  Little  John.  "The 
proud  Sheriff  greeteth  thee  full  lovingly  and  sendeth  thee  his 
cook  and  a-many  of  his  silver  vessels,  with  three  hundred  pounds 
in  good  money." 

"Nay,  by  the  mass,"  said  Robin  Hood,  "I  warrant  it  was 
never  by  his  good-will  so  much  kindness  is  done  to  me."  Then 
the  cook  told  what  had  befallen,  and  they  all  roared  with  laughter. 

Little  John  then  bethought  him  of  a  merry  conceit.  So  off 
he  started  through  the  forest  to  a  certain  place  where  he  thought 
he  would  find  the  proud  Sheriff  hunting  with  hounds  and  horn. 

When  he  saw  the  Sheriff  he  knelt  down  before  him  and  said : 

"God  save  thee,  my  master  dear." 

"Reynard  Greenleaf!"  cried  the  Sheriff,  in  great  surprise. 
"What  hast  thou  now  for  me?" 

"I  have  been  in  the  forest,"  said  John,  "and  I  saw  the  fairest 
sight  that  mine  eyes  ever  beheld.  In  yonder  glade  I  saw  a  right 
fair  hart,  his  color  being  of  green,  and  by  his  side  were  seven- 
score  deer,  all  ranged  in  a  circle.  The  antlers  of  this  hart  had 
over  sixty  points,  so  sharp  that  I  durst  not  shoot  for  fear  it  would 
slay  me." 

"I  make  my  vow,"  said  the  Sheriff,  "that  marvelous  sight  I 
fain  would  see." 

"Come  with  me,  dear  master,  and  I  will  show  it  thee." 

The  Sheriff  gladly  rode  after  the  nimble,  fleet-footed  outlaw, 
and  after  a  long  trot  they  came  to  the  glade  and  stood  before 
Robin  Hood.  Then  said  Little  John: 

"Behold,  there  stands  the  master  hart  in  the  green  coat." 

The  proud  Sheriff  stood  still,  and  with  a  sorry  face  and  sad 
voice  replied:  "Reynard  Greenleaf,  thou  hast  betrayed  me. 
Thou  art  well  named,  for  the  fox  is  sly  in  the  woods." 

"In  truth,  master,"  said  Little  John,  "thou  art  to  blame,  for  I 
was  refused  a  good  dinner  when  I  was  a  servant  at  thy  house. 

[127] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

So  now  I  will  return  good  for  evil  and  send  you  home  with  a  good 
dinner." 

In  a  very  short  time  the  feast  was  spread,  and  all  the  food  was 
served  upon  silver  vessels.  When  the  Sheriff  took  up  the  cup 
of  wine  he  looked  very  closely  at  it,  then  at  the  silver  plate,  and 
then  at  Little  John.  He  could  not  eat  for  very  sorrow  when  he 
found  that  the  meal  was  spread  upon  his  own  silver. 

"Make  good  cheer,  for  charity's  sake,"  said  Robin.  "I  war- 
rant, Sir  Sheriff,  the  fare  is  good.  So  eat  and  be  merry.  For  the 
love  I  bear  thy  servant,  Reynard  Greenleaf,  we  will  spare  thy 
life  and  do  no  harm  to  thee,  so  fall  to  and  prove  thyself  a  good 
trencherman." 

But  the  Sheriff  was  too  sad;  all  he  could  do  was  to  watch  in 
silence  while  the  others  ate  heartily. 

When  the  evening  began  to  close  and  the  time  came  when  all 
should  go  to  rest  Robin  commanded  John  to  draw  off  the  Sheriff's 
hose  and  shoes,  his  cape  of  fine  furs,  and  cap  with  plumes.  John 
gave  him  a  green  mantle  to  wrap  his  body  in,  that  the  cold  night 
dew  might  not  give  him  a  chill,  and  told  off  a  number  of  young 
men  to  lie  beside  him  on  the  greensward  under  the  great  oak. 

But  the  Sheriff,  used  to  soft  living,  lay  awake  all  night  long, 
shivering  with  cold,  till  his  ribs  began  to  smart  and  grow  stiff. 
At  last  the  long  night  was  over  and  the  dawn  appeared.  One 
by  one  the  outlaws  awakened  and  arose.  Robin  then  asked  the 
Sheriff: 

"How  didst  thou  fare  in  our  way  of  sleeping?" 

"A  hard  and  miserable  bed,"  replied  the  Sheriff,  "and  for  all 
the  gold  in  merry  England  I  would  not  dwell  in  such  a  state." 

"Nay,"  quoth  Robin,  "thou  shalt  dwell  with  me,  I  vow,  a  full 
twelvemonth,  for  I  fain  would  teach  thee  to  be  a  merry  outlaw." 

Quoth  the  Sheriff:  "Were  I  to  spend  such  another  night  I 
would  rather  that  thou  shouldst  smite  off  my  head,  and  would 
forgive  thee  for  it.  Let  me  go  for  sweet  charity,  and  I  will 
afterward  be  thy  best  friend." 

"Then  we  will  let  thee  go,"  said  Robin,  "but  before  thou  art 
gone  thou  shalt  swear  to  me  a  great  oath  on  my  bright  sword — 

[128] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

that  thou  wilt  never  more  strive  to  harm  me,  and  that  if  thou 
findest  any  one  of  my  men  by  night  or  by  day  thou  wilt  help  him 
as  well  as  thou  mayest." 

The  Sheriff  was  so  wretched  that  he  promised  everything  and 
took  the  oath.  Then  Little  John  put  him  on  his  horse  and, 
leading  him  through  the  greenwood  a  little  way,  parted  from  him 
with  hearty  good  wishes  for  a  safe  return  home. 


XII 


ROBIN   TRIES   HIS   HAND    SELLING   MEATS 

BIN  HOOD  was  a  little  piqued  at  the  crafty 
means  by  which  Little  John  had  gotten  the 
better  of  the  Sheriff.  By  the  name  he  chose 
— Reynard  Greenleaf,  which  means  "fox  from 
the  woods" — he  seemed  to  boast  of  his  own 
slyness;  and  while  Robin  owned  that  his  right- 

_  hand  man  was  craftier  than  he  had  thought, 

he  resolved  that  he  would  not  be  outdone,  but  would  himself 
show  the  Sheriff  a  thing  or  two.  He  and  his  band  had  no  hatred 
against  the  Sheriff,  nor,  for  that  matter,  against  any  one  else, 
much  cause  as  they  had  to  be  bitter  against  the  world,  for  they 
were  all  outlawed  men.  What  they  did  was  done  in  a  spirit 
of  jovial  frolic  and  fun.  It  is  certain  that  they  never  did  any 
foul  misdeed.  They  robbed  the  rich,  who  robbed  others,  that 
they  might  live  and  have  means  to  help  the  poor  and  needy.  In 
those  cruel  old  days,  when  might  seemed  to  make  right,  few  were 
so  kind  and  honest  as  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  men.  Robin 
himself  often  went  to  mass  at  the  little  church  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  forest,  where  he  was  welcomed  because  of  his  many  lavish 
gifts.  For  he  loved  the  humble  and  sincere  churchmen  even  as 
he  hated  the  purse-proud  and  selfish. 

[132] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

It  fell  upon  a  day  that  Robin  started  off  alone  through  the 
forest  singing  a  blithesome  song.  He  had  not  gone  far  when  he 
chanced  to  meet  a  jolly  butcher,  who  likewise  was  singing  merrily 
as  he  rode  through  the  wood  among  the  leaves  so  green.  The 
butcher  bestrode  a  fine  mare,  and  swinging  from  behind  on  each 
side  hung  two  great  silk  bags  full  of  the  meat  he  was  taking  to 
Nottingham  market  to  sell. 

"Good  morrow,  my  fine  fellow,"  quoth  jolly  Robin.  "Tell  me 
what  goods  thou  hast  in  thy  panniers,  for  I  have  a  mind  for  thy 
company  and  would  fain  know  thy  trade  and  where  thou  dost 
dwell."  " 

"Truly,  a  butcher  am  I,  and  to  Nottingham  do  I  go  to  sell  my 
meats.  But  what  is  it  to  thee  where  I  do  dwell?  Tell  me  thy 
name." 

"My  name  is  Robin  Hood,  and  in  Sherwood  do  I  dwell." 

Then  in  a  trembling  voice  the  butcher  said:  "I  cry  your 
mercy,  good  Robin,  for  I  fear  that  name.  Have  mercy  on  me 
and  mine;  let  me  go  my  way." 

"Nay,  jolly  butcher,"  quoth  Robin,  "fear  nothing,  for  I  will  do 
thee  no  harm.  Come,  tell  me,  what  is  the  price  of  thy  meat  and 
of  thy  mare,  for,  by  the  mass,  be  it  never  so  dear,  I  fain  would  be 
a  butcher." 

"I  will  soon  tell  thee,"  quoth  the  butcher.  Then  he  looked 
straight  before  him  and  for  a  space  seemed  lost  in  thought.  At 
last  he  said:  "Good  Robin,  I  like  thee  well  and  would  not  of- 
fend thee.  Therefore  thou  shalt  have  my  meats,  and  eke  my 
bonny  mare,  for  four  marks,  though  the  price  be  beggarly." 

"Get  down  from  thy  horse,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  come,  count 
out  the  money  from  my  bag.  Right  gladly  do  I  pay  thy  price, 
for  I  long  to  be  a  butcher  for  a  day,  and  I  warrant  I  shall  sell 
my  wares  first  of  them  all  at  the  market." 

When  the  butcher  had  seen  the  money  counted  aright  he 
snugly  packed  it  away  in  a  little  bag  in  his  pouch,  well  content 
with  his  bargain;  and  Robin,  mounting  the  horse,  jogged  off  to 
Nottingham  market.  First  of  all,  he  got  from  the  officers  of 
the  guild  a  market-stand,  for  which  he  paid  'a  small  fee.  Then 

[I33l 


ROBIN    HOOD 

he  put  on  the  butcher's  apron,  cap,  and  jacket,  cleaned  off  the 
stand,  got  out  all  the  legs  and  shoulders  of  mutton  and  veal, 
sharpened  his  knives,  and  was  soon  busy  with  cleaver  and  saw, 
cutting  up  pieces  to  make  the  best  display  in  the  market.  All 
the  other  butchers  looked  askance  at  Robin  because  he  was  a 
stranger  and  seemed  ignorant  of  the  ways  and  sly  tricks  of  the 
trade.  However,  when  all  was  set  out  to  the  best  advantage, 
he  began  to  cry  out  in  a  loud  voice: 

"Come  hither,  good  people,  come  and  buy,  buy,  buy.  I  sell 
good  meat  cheap,  and  cheap  meat  good.  Pay  no  heed  to  the 
other  butchers,  for  they  sell  naught  but  bone  and  skin.  Be  not 
backward,  good  wives,  good  maids,  good  widows,  and  good 
spinsters;  come  up,  come  up  and  buy.  I  sell  as  much  meat  for 
one  penny  as  you  will  get  from  the  other  butchers  for  three 
pennies.  I  will  cut  away  all  the  fat  and  sell  you  the  lean.  An  it 
please  you,  good  dames,  I  will  strip  away  all  the  bones  and  sell 
naught  but  flesh.  As  for  the  bones,  ye  shall  take  them  home  to 
your  dogs.  Six  pounds  of  good  fresh  meat,  with  never  a  bone, 
for  one  penny!" 

So  lustily  did  Robin  cry  his  wares  that  soon  a  throng  of  dames 
and  lasses  pressed  about  his  stand,  while  scarce  a  soul  came  near 
the  booths  of  the  other  butchers.  Ere  long  his  trade  was  so 
brisk  that  he  had  no  need  to  shout.  Then,  when  a  pretty  lass 
asked  the  price  of  a  piece  of  meat,  he  would  answer:  "Naught, 
but  one  kiss  from  thy  pretty  lips."  Thus  the  handsome  young 
butcher  got  many  a  kiss,  which  gladdened  him  more  than  silver 
coins.  Long  before  the  market  closed  Robin  was  clean  sold  out, 
and  the  others  were  full  wroth  because  they  had  not  thriven  that 
day.  They  talked  with  one  another,  saying,  "Surely  he  is  some 
prodigal,  that  hath  sold  his  father's  land  and  now  wastes  the 
money  in  selling  meat  at  so  low  a  price."  Said  one:  "Perhaps 
he  is  a  man  of  much  store  and  cattle.  We  had  best  be  friendly 
with  him."  So  several  of  them  stepped  up  to  Robin,  saying, 
"Come,  brother,  we  be  all  of  one  trade,  and  the  Butchers' 
Guild  is  to  dine  with  the  Sheriff.  Wilt  thou  join  us  in  the 
feast?" 

[i34] 


'NAY,"  QUOTH  ROBIN,  "FEAR  NOTHING,  FOR  I  WILL 
DO  THEE  NO  HARM" 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Ay,  marry,  that  will  I,"  quoth  merry  Robin.  "I  will  go  with 
my  true  brethren,  as  fast  as  I  can  hie." 

So  they  all  marched  off  together  to  the  Sheriff's  house.  The 
Sheriff  had  been  told  of  this  wonderful  butcher  who  could  afford 
to  sell  as  much  meat  for  a  penny  as  the  others  did  for  three 
pennies,  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to  place  Robin  beside  him 
as  the  honored  guest,  thinking  to  lure  the  young  spendthrift  into 
some  bad  bargain.  When  they  had  all  sat  down  to  eat,  he  asked 
Robin  to  say  grace.  Then  Robin  stood  up,  but  he  could  think 
of  naught  to  say.  At  last  he  muttered : 

"Pray  God  bless  us  all  within  this  place  and  eke  our  meat. 
A  cup  of  good  sack  will  nourish  our  blood — and  so  I  do  end  my 
grace." 

Then  they  all  fell  to  and  enjoyed  the  feast  full  well. 

"Come,  brother  butchers,"  quoth  jolly  Robin,  "while  we  do 
stay,  let  us  be  merry.  Come,  pour  us  more  wine.  I  vow  to  pay 
the  reckoning  if  it  cost  me  five  pounds  ere  I  go.  The  cost  is 
mine,  so  be  merry,  good  friends,  be  merry." 

While  the  butchers  were  drinking  at  Robin's  expense  they 
smiled  and  nudged  one  another  and  talked  in  whispers.  "This 
is  a  mad  blade,"  said  one  of  them;  "a  wise  one  saves,  and  a 
fool  spends."  The  Sheriff  whispered  to  his  left-hand  neighbor, 
"His  father  hath  left  him  lands  which  he  hath  sold  for  silver 
and  gold,  and  now  means  to  be  rid  of  its  cares."  Then  he  said  to 
himself,  "  'Twere  a  good  deed  to  help  him  in  so  worthy  a  purpose." 

"Good  fellow,"  quoth  he  to  Robin,  "hast  thou  any  horned 
beasts  to  sell  unto  me?" 

"Yea,  good  master  Sheriff,  that  I  have — some  two  hundred, 
as  well  as  a  hundred  acres  of  good  land,  an  it  please  you  to 
see  it.  And  I  will  make  as  good  a  bargain  of  it  to  you  as  my 
father  did  make  to  me." 

"What  is  the  price  thou  askest,  my  good  fellow,  for  the  two 
hundred  horned  beasts  ?  For  if  the  price  be  within  reason,  I  warrant 
I  shall  find  one  who  will  buy." 

"The  price  to  thee,  noble  Sheriff,  shall  be  small  enough.  Tis 
but  two  hundred  pounds." 

[137] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Ay,"  thought  the  Sheriff,  "but  one  quarter  of  their  true 
worth.  I  must  go  to  see  these  same  horned  beasts  before  it 
chance  he  change  his  price.  By  my  faith,  good  fellow,"  he  said 
aloud,  "I  fain  would  look  upon  thy  two  hundred  horned  beasts." 

"That  is  easily  done,"  quoth  Robin,  "for  they  are  not  far  to 
seek." 

So  when  the  feast  was  ended  the  Sheriff  had  his  palfrey 
saddled,  put  two  hundred  pounds  in  gold  in  his  pouch,  and  made 
ready  to  go  with  the  spendthrift  butcher.  Robin  saddled  his 
mare,  and  away  they  rode  to  the  forest  of  merry  Sherwood. 

As  they  were  passing  through  the  leafy  woods  the  Sheriff 
crossed  himself,  saying,  "God  save  us  this  day  from  that  naughty 
varlet,  Robin  Hood!" 

"Amen,  so  be  it,"  said  jolly  Robin,  who  was  leading  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  forest. 

When  they  had  gone  a  little  farther,  bold  Robin  chanced  to 
spy  a  hundred  head  of  good  red  deer  that  came  tripping  along 
full  nigh  their  path.  "Look  you,"  quoth  he,  "how  like  you  my 
horned  beasts,  good  master  Sheriff?  Are  they  not  fat  and  fair 
to  see?" 

Then  the  Sheriff  was  wroth  and  fearful.  He  trembled  in  his 
boots,  for  a  sad  thought  of  a  sudden  flashed  through  his  brain. 
Quoth  he,  "I  tell  you,  good  fellow,  I  would  I  were  gone  from 
this  forest,  for  I  like  not  thy  company  nor  thy  fat  beasts." 

"Tarry  but  a  moment,  Sir  Sheriff,"  quoth  Robin,  and,  putting 
his  horn  to  his  mouth,  he  blew  three  blasts,  whereat  Little  John 
and  all  his  company  came  running. 

"What  is  thy  will,  my  good  master?"  cried  Little  John. 

"I  have  brought  hither,"  laughed  jolly  Robin,  "the  Sheriff  oi 
Nottingham  this  day  to  dine  with  thee." 

"Then,  by  Saint  Swithin,  he  is  right  welcome  to  me,  and  I  hope 
he  will  honestly  pay  for  the  feast,  for  I  know  he  has  gold.  I  can 
smell  it  in  his  pouch,  and  I  warrant  if  it  be  well  counted  there  will 
be  enough  to  serve  us  with  wine  to  drink  a  whole  year." 

Then  Little  John  lovingly  grasped  the  Sheriff  round  the  waist 
and  drew  him  down  from  his  palfrey.  Taking  his  mantle  gently 

[138] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

from  his  back,  he  laid  it  on  the  ground.  The  proud  Sheriff  stood 
still  and  doleful  while  Robin  opened  his  pouch  and  jingled  out 
the  two  hundred  pounds  in  golden  coins  into  the  mantle.  Little 
John  carefully  picked  up  the  golden  pieces  and  deftly  cast  the 
cloak  again  upon  the  Sheriff's  back,  then  set  him  upon  his  dapple- 
gray  palfrey,  saying,  "Adieu,  good  Sheriff,  I  wish  thee  a  safe 
journey  home." 

Robin  took  the  bridle-rein  and  led  the  palfrey  to  the  edge  of 
the  forest,  where  he  bade  the  Sheriff  God-speed. 

"Commend  me  to  your  lady  wife  at  home,"  quoth  he,  "and 
tell  her  that  Robin  Hood  found  much  profit  in  the  butcher's  trade 
in  fair  Nottingham  town  this  day."  So  Robin  went  away  laugh- 
ing to  his  bower. 


XIII 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND  ARTHUR  THE  TANNER 

iOU  will  perhaps  remember  how  Little  John 
gave  Eric  o'  Lincoln  a  mighty  crack  at  Notting- 
ham Fair,  and  how  Eric  went  back  home  with 
a  very  sad  heart  and  a  sore  head.  He  had 
purposely  made  the  journey  to  meet  and  fight 
another  famous  wielder  of  the  quarter-staff — 
Arthur-a-Bland,  the  jolly  tanner  of  Notting- 
At  that  time  Arthur  was  away  at  the  wars  in  the  Holy 
Land  fighting  against  the  Turks  with  King  Richard.  He  had 
now  returned  with  a  large  body  of  archers,  while  his  King  had 
been  treacherously  captured  and  imprisoned  in  a  castle. 

Now  when  Arthur  came  home  he  found  the  tanning  trade — 
along  with  others — in  very  evil  state;  and,  though  for  a  time  he 
was  treated  and  toasted  at  every  tavern  in  the  town  as  a  brave 
English  archer  who  had  seen  the  Holy  Sepulcher,  all  this  naturally 
came  to  an  end,  and  his  wonderful  tales  grew  a  trifle  stale.  Thus 
it  was  that  Arthur  became  lonesome  and  pined  for  something 
to  do. 

During  the  hot  midsummer  days  he  was  sorely  tempted  to 
enter  into  the  cooling  shade  of  Sherwood  Forest  and  try  his  hand 
with  the  long-bow  on  some  fat  hart.  The  great  autumn  fair  was 

[140] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

months  away,  so  he  could  make  no  use  of  his  quarter-staff,  for  it 
would  do  him  no  good  to  crack  the  pate  of  some  passing  stranger 
while  he  dwelt  in  the  town.  One  fine  morning  very  early  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  take  the  risk  of  killing  a  fine  buck,  so  he  girded  on 
his  sword,  and,  with  his  long-bow  swinging  at  his  back  and  stout 
cudgel  in  hand,  he  started  off,  twirling  his  staff  round  his  head  to 
the  tune  of  a  jolly  roundelay.  It  was  his  first  venture  into  the 
woodland  glade  since  he  had  come  home  from  the  wars,  and  the 
quiet,  cool  peacefulness  of  the  forest  made  him  glad  that  he  was 
no  longer  in  the  hot,  sandy  deserts  of  the  East.  The  birds  sang 
a  blithesome  tune,  as  he  thought,  in  response  to  his  merry  song, 
so  that  soon  he  forgot  all  about  sheriff's  men,  or  King's  foresters, 
and  gave  himself  up  wholly  to  his  joy  in  the  pleasant  day. 

Arthur  was  a  shrewd,  bold  fellow,  who  would  hold  his  own  in 
any  fight  so  long  as  he  did  not  meet  more  than  one  foe  at  a  time. 
His  great  cudgel  was  a  thing  to  beware  of.  Nevertheless,  as  he 
strode  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  forest  he  became  silent  and 
glanced  about  him  watchfully,  not  only  in  case  of  meeting  a 
stranger,  but  to  keep  from  frighting  the  deer. 

Anon  his  sharp  eye  made  out  the  antlers  of  a  fine  young  buck 
coming  toward  him  with  a  herd  of  deer.  Crouching  down  among 
the  ferns,  he  crept  along  till  within  fair  shooting  distance  and 
nocked  a  shaft.  He  had  not  observed  behind  a  tree  a  stranger 
dressed  in  Lincoln  green  who,  like  himself,  carried  a  quarter-staff 
and  bow.  Just  as  Arthur  tightened  the  string  to  let  the  arrow 
fly,  the  stranger  in  a  loud  voice  cried  out: 

"Hold,  thou  thieving  rogue  and  villain!  Who  art  thou  that 
rangest  so  boldly  here?  In  sooth,  thou  lookest  like  a  thief  that 
comes  to  steal  our  King's  deer." 

In  blank  surprise  Arthur  turned  round  to  view  the  bold  stranger 
who  dared  accost  him  thus,  and  on  seeing  a  single  man  no  taller 
or  stouter  than  himself,  he  replied : 

"Nay,  by  the  mass,  what  lying  rogue  art  thou  to  call  me  a 
thief  and  a  villain  when  I  am  neither  any  more  than  art  thou? 
Marry,  what  is  it  to  thee  what  I  do?" 

Then  the  stranger  said:  "I  am  the  keeper  of  this  forest,  and  the 
[143] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

King  hath  put  me  in  charge  of  his  deer;  therefore  I  do  hinder 
thee  from  shooting  at  them." 

"If  thou  art  a  keeper  in  this  forest,"  quoth  Arthur,  boldly, 
"and  hast  such  a  great  charge,  thou  must  needs  have  some  help 
of  others  before  thou  canst  hinder  me,  for  thou  art  not  of  thyself 
able  to  do  it." 

"Truly,"  replied  the  stranger,  "I  have  none  here  to  help  me  to 
make  thee  stand,  nor  have  I  need  of  any,  but  I  have  here  a  good 
oaken  staff  that  I  know  full  well  will  do  the  deed." 

"Thou  green  grasshopper,"  yelled  the  angry  tanner,  "I  care 
not  a  straw  for  thy  staff,  thy  sword,  nor  thy  bow.  If  I  but  once 
rap  thy  bare  noddle,  thou  wilt  be  put  in  bed  well  covered  with 
sticking-plaster." 

"Speak  less  boastingly,"  said  jolly  Robin,  "and  use  better 
terms  to  me,  or  I  will  e'en  mend  thy  manners  without  more  words." 

So  saying,  he  unbuckled  his  belt,  laid  down  his  long-bow,  and 
then,  being  aware  that  the  tanner  was  making  ready  with  his 
staff,  he  said: 

"If  thou  dost  choose  to  fight  with  staff  rather  than  sword,  so  let 
it  be.  But  before  we  begin  our  fray  let  us  measure  staffs,  for  if 
mine  should  prove  the  longer  thou  wilt  count  it  foul  play." 

"I  pass  not  for  length,"  bold  Arthur  replied.  "My  staff  is 
of  oak — eight  feet  and  a  half.  It  will  knock  down  a  calf,  and  I 
hope  it  will  knock  down  thee." 

Then  Robin  rushed  upon  him  and  gave  him  such  a  wicked 
knock  that  the  blood  gushed  forth  from  the  side  of  his  head. 
For  the  first  half-hour  the  fight  was  a  fierce  staff-cracking  tattoo. 
From  the  way  in  which  Arthur  ran  around  nimbly  and  laid  on 
and  parried,  Robin  saw  from  the  first  that  he  would  have  enough 
to  do  to  defend  himself.  They  were  both  running  like  wild  boars, 
and  both  were  bleeding  from  head  wounds.  The  woods  re- 
sounded with  their  lusty  knocks,  as  each  strove  full  sore  to  reach 
the  other's  leg,  arm,  or  any  part  of  his  body.  For  two  hours  they 
plied  their  staffs  with  heavy  strokes  as  if  they  were  cleaving 
wood.  Both  were  grimly  silent,  watching  each  other  carefully 
for  an  opening  that  would  end  the  strife.  Arthur  had  met  his 

Ii44l 


"MY   FREEDOM   HAVE   I   WON  THROUGH   MY   STAFF, 
AND  NOT  BY  GRACE  OF  THEE" 


ROBIN    HOOD 

match — much  greater  obstinacy  and  skill  than  he  ever  had  met 
before  or  now  looked  for  in  his  foe.  He  had  not  the  least  idea 
whom  he  was  fighting,  but  he  swore  to  master  this  bold  fellow, 
whoever  he  might  be,  who  dared  to  question  his  freedom  in  the 
forest.  As  for  Robin,  he  remembered  all  too  well  the  beating 
the  tinker  had  bestowed  upon  him,  and  fain  would  he  show 
Little  John  and  his  men  that  he  could  gain  the  mastery  with 
some  other  weapon  than  the  long-bow. 

Another  half-hour  of  the  ceaseless  din  and  clatter,  and  both 
combatants  were  a  sorry  sight,  their  faces  covered  with  blood  and 
sweat,  both  utterly  tired  out  and  aching  with  their  wounds. 
"Hold  thy  hand,  fellow,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  let  thy  quarrel 
fall.  Though  we  crack  our  bones  all  to  pieces,  we  gain  no  prize, 
nor  any  other  good  thing,  thereby.  Hereafter  in  this  forest 
of  merry  Sherwood  thou  shalt  be  free  to  do  thy  will." 

This  speech  somewhat  nettled  the  fiery  tanner,  who  replied: 
"  God-a-mercy  for  naught.  My  freedom  have  I  won  through 
my  staff,  and  not  by  grace  of  thee." 

^  Prithee  tell  me,  good  fellow,"  quoth  Robin,  "what  trade 
thou  art  of  and  in  what  place  thou  dost  dwell,  for  I  would  fain 
know  both  these  things." 

Bold  Arthur  replied:  "A  tanner  am  I,  and  in  Nottingham 
town  have  L  long  plied  my  trade.  Shouldst  thou  ever  go  there, 
I  make  a  vow,  I  will  tan  thy  hide  for  naught." 

"God-a-mercy,  good  fellow,"  said  jolly  Robin;  "since  thou 
art  so  kind,  I  will  do  as  much  for  thee.  My  name  is  Robin  Hood, 
and  in  sooth  if  thou'lt  forsake  thy  tanner's  trade  to  live  in  the 
greenwood  with  me,  thou  mayest  shoot  the  deer  and  eat  venison 
to  thy  fill — besides  gold  and  fee,  a  fair  share  of  all  we  take." 

"I  vow,"  quoth  Arthur,  "if  thou  be'st  indeed  the  outlaw 
Robin  Hood — and  by  the  bruises  of  my  body  I  doubt  it  not  at 
all — then  here  is  my  hand  in  loving  kindness.  My  name  is  Arthur- 
a-Bland,  and  we  two  will  never  be  parted." 

Robin  gladly  grasped  the  strong  palm,  happy  in  having  stood 
up  so  long  against  a  champion  known  far  and  wide  as  the  boldest 
and  deftest  hand  that  ever  plied  a  quarter-staff. 

[1471 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"But  tell  me,"  said  Arthur,  "oh,  tell  me,  where  is  my  dear 
kinsman,  brave  Little  John,  whom  I've  not  seen  for  many  a 
year?  On  my  mother's  side  we  are  related,  and  I  fain  would 
set  eyes  upon  him  once  more." 

"He  is  ever,"  said  Robin,  "within  sound  of  my  bugle-call." 
Then  he  blew  full  loud  and  shrill,  and  scarcely  had  the  echo 
died  away  in  the  distance  when  Little  John  appeared,  running 
as  fast  as  his  long  legs  could  carry  him  through  the  forest  glade. 

"Oh,  what  is  the  matter?"  cried  Little  John.  "And  why  dost 
thou,  my  master,  sit  there  so  sad  and  befouled?  I  fear  me  that 
all  is  not  well  with  thee." 

"Oh,  my  comrade,"  quoth  Robin,  "this  tanner  did  make  me 
stand,  but  he  tanned  my  hide  so  soundly  that  now  perforce  I 
must  sit.  He  is  a  brave  blade  and  a  master  tanner,  too.  That 
I  should  know,  having  tasted  of  his  trade." 

"He  is  to  be  commended,"  quoth  Little  John,  "for  so  great  a 
feat,  but  if  he  be  so  smart  at  his  trade,  let  him  try  to  tan  my 
hide,  too." 

"Nay,  nay,  stay  thy  hand,"  said  Robin,  "for  he  tells  me  that 
he  is  of  thine  own  blood,  and  his  name  is  Arthur-a-Bland." 

Then  Little  John  threw  away  his  staff  as  far  as  he  could  fling 
it.  Running  up  to  Arthur,  he  put  his  great  arms  around  his 
neck,  and  both  did  weep  for  very  joy.  When  they  had  drawn 
apart,  Arthur  swore  a  great  oath  that  hereafter,  as  long  as  he 
lived,  the  three  should  be  as  one;  and,  all  joining  hands,  they 
danced  round  the  oak  tree,  singing: 

"  For  three  merry  men,  and  three  merry  men, 
And  three  merry  men  we  be." 


XIV 


ROBIN   AND   THE    BISHOP   OF   HEREFORD 

T  is  not  likely  that  even  such  hard-headed 
fighters  as  Friar  Tuck,  the  Tinker,  and  the 
Tanner  had  more  dents  and  holes  in  their 
pates  than  had  Robin.  But  he,  brave  and 
big-hearted,  looked  upon  such  matters  as  part 
and  parcel  of  an  outlaw's  life.  Of  like  dis- 
positions were  all  his  merry  men,  and  they 
obeyed  and  followed  him  willingly.  The  life  they  had  chosen, 
from  either  choice  or  necessity,  was  more  enjoyable  than  any 
other  they  could  find — yet  they  were  not  held  against  their 
wills.  They  could  leave  at  any  time  if  another  and  better  path 
could  be  found.  So  they  loved  and  trusted  one  another,  and  there 
was  never  the  least  chance  that  any  would  take  aught  from  the 
secret  store  of  treasures  without  the  captain's  leave,  for  all  had 
enough. 

The  treasure  was  kept  in  a  place  so  strong  that  the  band 
could  defend  it  against  an  army  without  being  dislodged  except 
by  famine.  After  going  through  the  trap-door  of  the  great  oak 
you  emerged  from  a  tunnel  inside  the  massive  walls  into  a  court- 
yard, at  each  end  of  which  was  a  square  tower,  built  directly  in 
front  on  either  side  of  the  cave-opening.  This  cave,  being  used 

[I49l 


ROBIN    HOOD 

only  for  winter  sleeping,  was  lighted  and  warmed  by  great  log- 
fires.  The  side  towers,  built  of  solid  blocks  of  stone,  had  each 
three  large  chambers,  one  above  the  other,  reached  by  a  winding 
staircase.  The  north  tower  was  the  armory,  in  the  lower  chamber 
of  which  suits  of  chain  armor,  knives,  daggers,  swords,  bucklers, 
bows  and  arrows,  and  other  weapons  were  plentifully  stored. 
Above  it  was  the  clothiery,  where  great  piles  of  cloth  of  every 
color  and  material  were  kept  on  shelves,  together  with  many 
suits  of  clothes,  both  for  disguise  and  general  use.  At  the  very 
top  was  the  treasury,  of  which  Little  John  and  Will  Scarlet  had 
charge.  In  this  chamber  were  heavy,  iron-bound  boxes  holding 
bags  full  of  coins,  both  silver  and  gold.  In  other  boxes  were 
jewels,  ornaments,  embroidered  silks  and  velvets,  and  rare  furs. 

The  southern  square  tower  was  the  kitchen  for  cooking  and 
roasting  in  winter-time  only.  The  second  chamber  was  the 
pantry,  where  all  the  venison  pies,  pastry,  and  bread  were  kept 
for  emergency  stores.  The  top  floor  was  the  buttery,  or  store- 
house, where  were  kept  meal,  flour,  honey,  spices,  and  other  things 
used  for  cooking  and  eating.  This  last  room  was  entered  from 
the  outside  by.  winding  stairs.  Beneath  the  towers  were  the 
cellars  for  wines  and  ales.  Except  in  winter  this  inner  court  was 
deserted  most  of  the  time,  for  in  spring,  summer,  and  autumn  out- 
law life  was  out-of-doors. 

Cooking  was  done  in  great  clay  ovens  built  over  holes  in  the 
ground,  where  the  wood-fires  were  lighted.  General  work  and 
cleaning  was  done  on  long  tables  roofed  over  with  thatched  straw 
and  reeds  as  a  protection  from  rain.  On  rainy  days  the  band  ate 
under  shelter,  but  in  fair  weather  the  food  was  best  enjoyed  served 
on  the  grassy  turf. 

When  Robin  was  fully  restored,  after  his  bout  with  Arthur- 
a-Bland,  and  as  vigorous  as  ever,  he  was  in  such  a  jolly  mood  that 
he  made  a  vow  to  have  a  feast  and  invite  some  noble  guest  to 
share  it.  Early  that  morning  some  spies  had  brought  news — 
the  Bishop  of  Hereford  with  a  numerous  retinue  would  pass 
by  the  forest  that  day  on  his  way  to  Nottingham  town. 
Thereat  Robin  was  full  glad,  for,  since  the  fat  Bishop  had  lost  his 

[ISO] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

golden  chain  at  Allan-a-Dale's  wedding,  he  had  threatened  many  a 
time  to  have  Robin  hanged,  should  he  chance  to  catch  him,  to 
the  nearest  tree.  And  so  it  was  that  the  Bishop,  who  v  traveled 
much,  never  went  abroad  without  a  troop  of  men-at-arms.  Robin 
knew  of  the  threat  against  him  but  cared  not  a  whit.  Only  he 
took  good  care  to  find  out  what  road  the  Bishop  would  follow 
in  passing  by  the  forest.  On  this  bright,  sunshiny  morning  he 
called  together  half  a  dozen  stout  companions  and  said  to  them: 

"Come,  kill  me  a  good  fat  deer.  I  mean  this  day  to  have  com- 
pany to  dine  with  me,  and  the  Bishop  of  Hereford  will  be  among 
them.  I'll  warrant  he  shall  pay  well  for  his  cheer." 

Then  Robin  and  six  of  his  men,  all  dressed  as  shepherds,  started 
off  in  quest  of  a  fat  buck,  which  they  shot  and  carried  to  the  high- 
way side.  Straightway  they  skinned  it,  dressed  it,  and  made  a 
fire  ready  for  cooking;  but  they  let  the  carcass  lie  by  the  roadside, 
waiting  till  the  Bishop  should  come  riding  by.  At  last  the  Bishop 
came  along,  decked  out  in  all  his  fine  attire  (for  he  was  a  very 
vain  man),  with  his  men-at-arms  in  the  rear.  When  he  saw  the 
shepherds,  and  what  they  had  done,  he  called  out  in  no  friendly 
tone: 

"What  is  the  matter,  ye  thieving  knaves,  and  for  whom  do  ye 
make  such  a  feast?  Can  it  be  that  a  few  base  hinds  have  the 
hardihood  to  kill  the  King's  deer  and  carouse  by  the  wayside? 
Who  are  ye,  and  how  dare  ye  place  your  lives  in  such  jeopardy?" 

"We  are  poor  shepherds,  your  lordship,"  quoth  Robin,  "who 
work  hard  at  keeping  sheep  all  the  year  round  without  any  flesh 
food,  and  now  have  a  mind  to  be  merry  for  once  by  killing  one  of 
the  King's  fat  deer." 

"Ye  are  bold  villains,"  roared  the  Bishop,  "and  I  will  make  it 
my  business  to  acquaint  the  King  with  these  high  doings.  There- 
fore come  with  me  forthwith,  and  pick  up  the  deer,  for  before  the 
King  ye  shall  surely  go." 

"Oh,  pardon!"  said  bold  Robin  Hood.  "For  it  becomes  not 
your  lordship's  coat  to  take  so  many  lives  away." 

"Pardon,  forsooth,  ye  wretched  varlets!"  quoth  the  Bishop. 
"No  pardon  do  I  owe  thee.  Wherefore  should  I  pardon  such 


ROBIN    HOOD 

wanton  mischief?  The  land  has  come  to  a  pretty  pass  when  even 
shepherds  crave  to  live  like  barons!" 

Just  at  that  moment  one  jf  his  retainers  whispered  to  him, 
"That  same  base  churl  is  Robin  Hood  in  disguise." 

Thereat  the  Bishop's  red  face  turned  white,  and  he  trembled 
as  if  about  to  fall  from  his  palfrey.  None  the  less,  he  soon  plucked 
up  courage  and  boldly  shouted  to  his  men-at-arms  to  surround 
Robin  and  his  comrades  that  they  might  catch  him  alive  and 
bring  him  to  the  dungeon  in  Nottingham  Castle.  But  Robin 
was  too  quick  for  them.  Setting  his  back  against  a  tree,  he  drew 
from  beneath  his  shepherd's  smock  his  silver  bugle;  and,  putting 
it  to  his  mouth,  he  blew  a  loud  blast  that  reached  far  and  wide. 
This  loud  call  affrighted  the  men-at-arms,  for  they  knew  its 
meaning  and  feared  that  just  as  they  were  about  to  carry  off  Robin 
his  outlaw  band  would  attack  them  and  slay  them  without 
mercy.  So  they  stood  stock  still  and  heeded  not  the  Bishop's 
orders. 

"How  now,  my  men-at-arms!"  he  cried,  angrily.  "Seize  the 
villains  at  once!" 

Just  at  that  moment  the  soldiers  saw  threescore  and  ten  of 
bold  Robin's  men  come  tripping  o'er  the  lea,  and  without  more 
ado  they  set  their  horses  at  a  gallop  and  scampered  off  like  rats 
before  the  housewife's  broom,  leaving  the  Bishop  to  wonder 
how  he  should  get  himself  out  of  this  sorry  pickle.  All  the 
outlaws  filed  in  a  row  before  Robin  and  made  obeisance  to  him, 
making  as  pretty  a  sight  as  the  Bishop  had  e'er  seen.  Then 
Little  John  said: 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  brave  master,  that  thou  blowest 
so  loud  and  hastily?" 

"Oh,  matter  enow,"  cried  Robin  Hood.  "Here  is  the  Bishop 
of  Hereford,  and  no  pardon  shall  we  have  from  him." 

"Cut  off  his  head,  master,"  quoth  Little  John,  "and  throw 
him  into  his  grave." 

"Oh,  pardon,"  said  the  Bishop.  "For  if  I  had  known  it  had 
been  you,  I  would  have  gone  some  other  way." 

"No  pardon  do  I  owe  thee,"  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood.  "Did 
[152] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

I  not,  proud  Bishop,  ask  pardon  of  thee  but  a  little  while  agone, 
and  didst  thou  not  bid  thy  brave  followers  to  take  me  and  bring 
me  to  the  King?  Why  should  I  now  pardon  thee?  There- 
fore make  haste  and  come  with  me,  for  to  merry  Sherwood  thou 
shalt  surely  go  as  mine  honored  guest." 

So  the  Bishop  made  the  best  of  a  bad  matter,  and  they  all 
set  out  for  the  trysting-place,  the  outlaws  carrying  the  carcass 
of  the  deer  on  their  shoulders.  Robin  took  the  Bishop's  horse 
by  the  bridle  and  led  him  along  the  woodland  path  till  they 
arrived  at  the  great  oak.  Quoth  the  Bishop: 

"I  have  much  business  in  Nottingham  this  night  that  will 
not  stay  my  waiting.  Moreover,  I  am  in  no  need  of  victuals  or 
drink." 

"No  matter,"  said  Robin.  "Thou  shalt  sup  with  me  to- 
nigh  ^whether  thou  likest  or  not,  but  I'll  warrant  thou  art  hungry 
and  athirst." 

Now  the  Bishop  was  really  very  tired,  hungry,  and  thirsty, 
yet  withal  he  would  gladly  have  escaped,  for  he  knew  that 
something  more  than  a  merry  feast  was  toward.  After  a  little 
delay  the  feast  was  spread,  the  Bishop  being  placed  between 
Robin  and  Little  John.  The  hot,  smoking  venison  was  set 
before  them,  and  the  Bishop  forgot  himself  and  his  troubles 
so  much  as  to  say,  "By  the  mass,  it  hath  a  savory  smell." 

"Yea,"  laughed  Little  John,  "and  the  wine  will  please  thy 
palate  as  well." 

When  the  Bishop  had  stuffed  himself  with  meat  and  drink, 
he  shouted  out:  "Come,  my  merry  masters,  bring  the  reckoning, 
that  I  may  pay  for  this  most  excellent  feast.  Methinks,  if  it 
goes  on  much  longer,  the  score  will  grow  wondrous  high." 

"Lend  me  your  purse,  good  Bishop,"  quoth  Little  John,  "and 
I'll  tell  you  the  price  of  the  feast  by  and  by."  Then  Little  John 
took  the  Bishop's  cloak  and  spread  it  upon  the  greensward, 
and,  turning  the  purse  upside  down,  poured  forth  a  clinking 
stream  of  golden  coins. 

"Here's  money  enough,  master,"  quoth  he,  "to  pay  the 
reckoning,  and  'tis  a  comely  sight  to  see.  Let  us  count  the 


ROBIN    HOOD 

coins;  such  a  full  purse  makes  me  feel  charitable  toward  the 
Bishop,  though  I  warrant  he  loveth  me  not  so  heartily."  When 
the  money  was  counted  they  found  it  to  be  just  three  hundred 
pounds. 

"Pick  it  up  carefully,"  said  Robin,  "and  go  place  it  in  my 
treasury.  To  the  Bishop  we  will  return  the  empty  purse.  In 
sooth,  when  he  getteth  more  money  he  will  have  a  pouch  to  keep 
it,  ready  for  our  next  merry  meeting." 

Then  they  took  the  Bishop  by  the  hand,  and  bade  Allan-a-Dale 
to  play  lively  music  upon  his  harp.  Hand  in  hand,  they  made 
the  fat  old  Bishop  dance  in  his  boots  round  and  round  the  oak- 
tree.  At  last,  both  tired  and  weary,  he  was  set  upon  his  horse. 
Robin  told  off  two  men  for  guides;  and  the  Bishop,  glad  indeed 
to  get  away,  was  soon  jogging  through  the  forest  on  his  way 
to  Nottingham  town. 

Later  the  outlaws  learned  from  a  spy  that  the  Bishop's  urgent 
business  in  Nottingham  was  to  receive  church  tithes  and  doles 
gathered  from  certain  lands  and  property  held  by  him  round- 
about Nottingham  town.  Angry  and  ill-tempered  toward  every 
one  of  his  men,  whom  he  found  awaiting  him,  he  conceived  it 
his  first  duty  to  keep  dinning  loud  complaints  into  the  ears  of 
the  poor,  half-distracted  Sheriff.  After  patiently  listening  to 
the  tale  the  Sheriff  made  answer: 

"I  tell  thee,  pious  Bishop,  if  thou  lovest  thy  skin  and  dost 
wish  to  keep  it  whole,  the  next  time  thou  goest  upon  the  highway 
nigh  Sherwood,  turn  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left.  Bid  thy 
men  march  straight  on,  and  tarry  not." 

"But,"  interrupted  the  Bishop,  "if  we  see  a  pack  of  rascals 
feeding  and  feasting  on  the  King's  deer  by  the  wayside,  we  must 
in  the  King's  name  protect  his  own." 

"Nay,  nay,  by  our  Good  Lady,  thou  art  wrong.  This  sly  fox 
knows  our  doings,  our  goings  and  comings.  He  doth  devise  all 
manner  of  disguises,  wicked  plots,  and  audacious  schemes  to 
encompass  thee  and  thy  money.  No  matter  if  thou  shouldst 
espy  the  King  bound  to  a  tree,  thy  best  course  would  be  e'en 
to  let  the  King  care  for  his  own;  for  I'll  warrant  it  to  be  a  stuffed 

[156] 


"HERE'S   MONEY  ENOUGH  MASTER,"  QUOTH  LITTLE 
JtfHN,  "TO  PAY  THE  RECKONING" 


ROBIN    HOOD 

image  of  his  majesty.  When  thou  dost  journey  through  the 
country  hereabout,  go  with  empty  purse  and  in  plain  attire. 
Let  thy  servants  carry  thy  gold." 

"Nay,  by  the  mass!"  quoth  the  Bishop.  "They  are  greater 
thieves  than  Robin  Hood." 

"Hast  thou,  good  Bishop,  no  trusty  followers  to  carry  thy 
wealth  ? "  f 

"None  so  trusty  as  myself,"  said  the  Bishop. 

"Then  in  good  sooth,"  said  the  Sheriff,  "I  am  at  a  loss  to 
advise  thee,  unless  thou  likest  to  return  home  by  another  road, 
which  perchance  may  baffle  the  villain  and  his  band." 

That  night  the  Bishop  rested  with  Friar  Bertrand — a  sly, 
unsavory  man,  with  wide  jaws  and  wicked  little  black  eyes,  who 
lived  by  his  wits.  This  Bertrand  was  by  far  too  timid  to  at- 
tempt aught  against  the  Bishop,  but  he  was  glib  of  tongue  and 
ready  with  advice. 

"If  your  Grace  goes  the  other  way,  that  will  be  just  what  the 
outlaw  will  expect  you  to  do.  Therefore  go  back  the  same  way 
as  you  came.  Such  a  bold  act  will  deceive  the  villain." 

"Thou  saist  truly,"  quoth  the  Bishop;  and  the  next  morning, 
sure  enough,  he  started  back  on  the  road  by  which  he  had  come. 
Now  it  chanced  that  this  Bertrand  had  a  servant  just  as  false  as 
his  master,  who  acted  as  a  spy;  and  he  gave  the  outlaws  warning 
of  the  Bishop's  new  plans.  The  next  morning  was  bright  and  sun- 
shiny, and  Robin  was  taking  a  stroll  through  the  forest  by  him- 
self. He  had  bidden  a  number  of  his  comrades  to  go  by  another 
path  and  meet  him  on  the  highway.  Presently  he  was  aware  of 
strangers  approaching,  but  could  not  see  them  through  the  thick 
maze  of  woodland  trees.  Then  he  bethought  him,  "If  I  stay  any 
longer,  alone  as  I  am,  I  shall  be  taken  prisoner."  So  off  he  ran 
down  a  path. 

The  strangers  proved  to  be  the  Bishop  and  his  company  of 
soldiers,  who  at  once  recognized  Robin  by  his  green  mantle. 
Seeing  that  he  was  alone,  they  gave  chase  and  pressed  closely 
behind  him.  Robin  turned  about  and  chanced  to  spy  a  little 
cottage,  into  which  he  ran  crying  out  to  the  old  wife: 

[i59l 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Haste  thee,  good  dame,  and  give  me  means  to  save  my  life." 

"Why,  who  art  thou?"  said  the  old  woman.  "Come,  tell  me, 
for  thine  own  good." 

"I  am  an  outlaw;  many  do  call  me  by  the  name  of  Robin  Hood. 
Out  yonder  is  the  Bishop  of  Hereford,  with  his  men-at-arms,  who 
would  fain  take  me.  If  they  do,  the  Bishop  hath  sworn  to  hang 
me  on  the  limb  of  a  tree." 

"If  thou  art  Robin  Hood,"  said  the  good  old  wife,  "as  I  am 
full  sure  thou  art,  I  will  make  some  means  to  foil  the  Bishop 
and  all  his  company.  For  I  remember  one  Saturday  night  thou 
didst  bring  me  both  shoon  and  hosen.  Therefore,  I  will  hide 
thee  and  keep  thee  from  thine  enemies." 

"Then  give  me  thy  old  coat  of  gray,"  said  Robin,  "and  take 
thou  my  mantle  of  green,  and  I  will  take  up  thy  spindle  and  twine 
in  exchange  for  my  bow  and  arrow."  Thus  arrayed,  bold  Robin 
issued  forth,  passing  by  the  Bishop's  soldiers,  to  join  his  comrades 
by  the  wayside;  and  as  he  drew  nigh  them  Little  John  spied  him 
coming  along  the  glade. 

"See,  my  merry  men,"  cried  he,  "that  old  witch  stalking  along 
the  path.  I  will  let  fly  an  arrow  that  she  may  do  no  more  harm 
to  little  children." 

"Hold  thy  hand,"  shouted  Robin.  "I  am  thy  good  master, 
Robin  Hood,  arrayed  thus  to  escape  the  Bishop's  men." 

Meanwhile  the  Bishop  in  a  furious  voice  called  out  to  the  old 
woman:  "We  saw  that  traitor  thief,  Robin  Hood,  enter  thy  cot- 
tage. Let  us  search,  or  bring  him  unto  us." 

The  frightened  old  woman  then  opened  the  cottage  door;  and 
the  Bishop,  upon  seeing  a  figure  dressed  in  a  mantle  of  green, 
holding  a  bow,  dragged  her  out  and  placed  her  on  a  milk-white 
steed  and  rode  beside  her  on  a  dapple-gray  mare.  Chuckling 
and  laughing  with  great  glee  at  so  easy  a  capture  of  the  bold 
outlaw,  the  Bishop  said: 

"By  my  faith,  this  will  be  joyful  news  for  the  Sheriff.  We  will 
ride  back  to  Nottingham  and  place  this  precious  rogue  in  a 
dungeon  where  he  hath  belonged  this  many  a  year — and  nobody 
brave  enough  but  a  churchman  to  catch  him!" 

[160] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Thus  talking  and  laughing,  they  rode  along,  till  at  length  the 
Bishop  spied  a  hundred  brave  bowmen  standing  in  a  line  fronting 
on  their  path.  Then  quoth  he: 

"Oh,  who  are  those  men  yonder  that  range  within  the  woodland 
shade?" 

"Marry,"  said  the  old  woman,  "I  think  it  be  Robin  Hood  and 
his  merry  men." 

"God-a-mercy  then,"  the  Bishop  cried,  "who  art  thou  which 
I  have  here  by  my  side?" 

"Why,  I  am  an  old  woman;  look  on  my  long  gray  hair,"  cried 
she. 

"Woe  is  me,"  said  the  Bishop,  "that  ever  I  saw  this  day!" 

When  the  Bishop's  company  saw  the  bold  array  of  the  outlaw 
band  come  marching  forth,  with  Little  John  at  their  head,  they 
straightway  scurried  off  to  hide,  as  they  had  done  before,  leaving 
the  Bishop  once  more  alone.  Even  the  old  woman  rode  off  on 
the  Bishop's  white  steed  without  being  noticed,  so  frightened  he 
was  at  this  sudden  turn  of  fortune. 

"Take  courage,  good  Bishop,"  said  Robin,  "and  get  off  thy 
horse  while  I  tie  it  to  a  tree;  for  I  see  thy  purse  is  wondrous  fat, 
and  would  fain  know  what  is  in  it."  Then  he  took  off  his  mantle 
and  spread  it  on  the  ground. 

"Now,"  quoth  Little  John,  laughing,  "let  us  see  the  purse." 

So  they  turned  it  over  and  found  five  hundred  pounds  of  good 
money. 

"Now  he  can  go,"  said  Robin. 

"Nay,"  quoth  Little  John,  "that  may  not  be,  for  I  vow  before 
he  leaves  us  he  shall  sing  a  mass  to  us  and  our  good  outlaw  band." 

The  Bishop  obeyed  their  order  in  a  most  doleful  tone  of  voice. 

Then  they  set  him  upon  his  horse  backward  and  gave  him  the 

tail  for  a  bridle,  sending  six  stout  fellows  to  guide  him  to  the 

road,  where  he  could  again  meet  his  men  and  go  upon  his  way. 

11 


XV 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND  THE  BEGGAR 

)BIN  HOOD  had  been  outlawed  when  he 
was  only  fifteen  years  old — in  other  words, 
officers  and  soldiers  of  the  Crown  could  kill 
him  at  sight  without  a  trial.  Of  his  own  free 
will  he  chose  to  lead  such  a  life  in  defiance 
of  the  law.  At  the  age  of  thirty-five  he  had 
(gathered  about  him  a  large  band  of  brave 
[lowers  who  would,  one  and  all,  shed  their  last  drop  of  blood  for 
him  if  need  were.  Wise  and  just  he  was  in  his  dealings,  oft- 
times  charitable  to  the  poor  and  needy,  brave  and  dangerous  in 
fight.  The  rich  barons  and  churchmen  who  ground  the  faces  of 
the  poor  trembled  at  his  very  name.  What  he  took  from  those 
that  fell  in  his  way  he  did  not  waste,  but  found  good  means — as 
you  will  see  later — to  help  many  who  were  sadly  in  need  of 
succor.  His  love  of  adventure  did  not  wane  with  the  passing 
years;  and,  though  he  needed  no  more  men  for  his  band,  he  was 
just  as  ready  as  ever  to  test  the  bravery  in  fair  fight  of  all  who 
crossed  his  path. 

Now  it  fell  upon  a  fair  afternoon  that  Robin  went  alone  through 
a  fern-clad  forest  path.  After  a  while  he  got  upon  the  highroad, 
where  he  met  a  beggar  going  sturdily  along  at  a  good  pace,  looking 

[162] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  noticing  no  one  as  he  strode  on 
his  way.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  pike-staff  that  was  both  stout  and 
strong,  while  wound  about  his  body  was  a  clouted  cloth  folded 
many  times,  making  an  excellent  covering  from  wind  and  rain. 
Tied  to  a  leathern  strap  there  hung  from  his  neck  a  large  meal- 
bag,  firmly  fastened  to  a  stout,  broad  buckle,  and  upon  his  head 
were  three  hats  stuck  fast  together,  one  above  the  other,  so 
that  wherever  he  went  little  did  he  care  either  for  sun  or  for 
rain. 

When  good  Robin  spied  this  oddly  attired  stranger  he  stepped 
boldly  right  in  front  of  him,  for  he  had  a  shrewd  thought  that 
the  beggar  was  not  so  poor  as  he  seemed. 

"Tarry,"  quoth  Robin.     "Tarry  awhile  and  speak  with  me." 

But  the  beggar,  making  as  if  he  had  not  heard  him,  went 
but  the  faster  on  his  way,  without  so  much  as  a  turn  of  his 
head. 

"Marry,"  said  Robin,  "thou  showest  me  scant  courtesy. 
Thou  must  tarry,  for  I  have  somewhat  to  say  to  thee." 

"By  my  three  hats,"  cried  the  beggar,  in  a  harsh  voice,  "to 
tarry  I  have  no  will,  for  it  groweth  late,  and  it  is  yet  far  to  my 
lodging-house.  Should  they  have  supper  before  I  get  there, 
perchance  my  stomach  shall  go  bare  of  food." 

"Now,  by  my  troth,"  said  good  Robin,  "I  see  well  that  in 
thinking  only  of  thine  own  supper,  thou  hast  no  care  of  mine. 
All  this  day  have  I  eaten  no  food,  and  wot  not  where  to  lie  this 
night.  To  the  tavern  would  I  go,  but  in  sooth  I  have  no  money. 
Sir  stranger,  you  must  lend  me  some  till  we  meet  again." 

The  beggar  answered  peevishly:  "I  have  no  money  to  lend; 
methinks  thou  art  as  young  as  I  and  as  strong,  I  warrant.  If 
thou  dost  fast  till  I  lend  thee  money,  thou  shalt  eat  naught  this 
year." 

"Then,"  said  bold  Robin,  "by  my  troth,  since  we  are  to- 
gether here,  if  thou  hast  but  a  dipt  farthing  I'll  take  it  from 
thee  ere  thou  go.  Come,  beggar,  lay  down  thy  clouted  cloth 
and  cease  to  stand  there  staring  me  in  the  face;  for  I  will  open 
up  all  thy  bags,  thy  tag-rags  and  bobtails,  and  rip  them  to 

[163! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

pieces  with  my  hands.  Shouldst  thou  make  an  outcry,  I  vow 
by  the  saints  to  try  how  far  a  broad  arrow  can  pierce  a  beggar's 
skin." 

The  beggar  looked  at  Robin  with  a  wry  smile  upon  his  face 
and  made  answer  thus: 

"Far  better  let  me  be;  for  do  not  think  I  care  a  straw,  or  be 
afeard  for  thy  nip-crooked  tree  that  thou  call'st  a  bow,  nor  that 
I  care  any  whit  for  thy  curn  sticks  that  thou  call'st  arrows, 
which  are  no  more,  in  sooth,  than  skewers  to  fasten  up  a  pudding 
bag  withal.  Here  do  I  defy  thee  to  do  me  harm — for  all  thy  loud 
talk  thou  wilt  get  nothing  from  me  but  ill." 

Such  fearless  words  from  a  ragged  beggar  roused  Robin's 
wrath.  Straightway  he  nocked  a  broad  arrow  and  bent  his 
great  bow.  But  e'er  'twas  drawn  a  span,  the  beggar  with  his 
stout  pike-staff  reached  forward  with  so  swift  a  stroke  that  the 
bow  burst  in  twain.  Nothing  daunted,  Robin  with  a  bound 
darted  to  strike  down  the  beggar  with  his  sword,  but  that  proved 
likewise  vain,  for  the  fellow  with  his  pike-staff  struck  such  a 
fierce  blow  on  Robin's  hand  that  his  sword  fell  to  the  ground. 

Good  Robin  could  not  speak  a  word,  for  he  was  sick  at  heart 
and  faint  from  bitter  pain.  Unable  either  to  fight  or  to  flee,  he 
knew  not  what  to  do.  Yet  still  the  beggar  with  his  terrible 
pike-staff  laid  lusty  blows  upon  his  side  and  back,  till  at  last 
Robin  fell  down  on  the  soft  sward  in  a  swoon,  lying  helpless  and 
bleeding  at  the  mercy  of  his  terrible  foe. 

"Stand  up,  stand  up/'  the  beggar  man  said;  "  'tis  a  shame  to 
go  to  rest.  In  truth,  I  think  it  were  best  to  stay  till  thou  gettest 
thy  money.  Then  go  to  the  tavern  and  buy  both  food  and  wine 
with  the  beggar's  money.  There  thou  canst  boast  of  what  thou 
didst  get  in  the  forest." 

Good  Robin  answered  ne'er  a  word,  but  lay  still  as  a  stone. 
Closed  were  both  his  eyes,  and  his  cheeks  were  pale  as  any  clay. 
With  a  few  more  blows  upon  his  body  the  beggar  thought  him 
dead,  and  leaving  him  to  lie  stark  and  still,  his  face  upturned 
to  the  sky,  he  strode  on  his  way. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  by  good  chance  three  of  Robin's 


ROBIN    HOOD 

band  came  walking  by  the  way  and  found  their  master  lying  on 
the  ground,  wounded,  bleeding,  and  senseless. 

"Who  hath  done  this  foul  deed,  comrades?"  said  one.  "Let 
us  take  our  dear  master  up,  and  carry  him  to  yon  brook,  that  we 
may  sprinkle  water  on  his  face  and  so  bring  him  to  life."  So  they 
took  up  good  Robin,  who  made  a  piteous  moan,  while  blood 
gushed  forth  from  his  mouth  and  nose.  Yet  though  they  searched 
all  over  his  body,  they  found  no  cuts,  but  many  cruel  bruises. 
When  his  brow  had  been  bathed  with  cold  water,  Robin  at  last 
came  to  his  senses  enough  to  speak  a  little. 

"Tell  us,  dear  master,"  said  his  men,  "tell  us  what  is  the 
matter,  and  how  thou  didst  fall  into  such  an  evil  case." 

Good  Robin  sighed  deep  e'er  he  began  to  tell  of  his  disgrace. 
"For  twenty  years  and  more  have  I  been  outlaw  and  forester 
in  this  wood,  yet  I  was  never  so  hard  bestead  as  ye  have  found 
me  here.  A  beggar  with  a  clouted  cloak  hath  with  his  pike-staff 
so  mauled  my  back  that  I  fear  'twill  never  be  well.  He  went 
o'er  yon  hill,  and  upon  his  head  he  carried  three  hats.  If  e'er 
ye  loved  your  master,  go  now  to  revenge  me  of  this  vile  deed 
and  bring  him  back  to  me  again.  Take  care  that  he  escape 
you  not,  for  if  ye  cannot  bring  him  to  me,  'twere  a  great  shame 
upon  us  all." 

"One  of  us  shall  stay  with  thee  because  thou  art  in  no  state 
to  be  left  alone,  and  the  other  two,  I  warrant,  shall  bring  the 
villain  beggar  back  to  use  as  thou  listest." 

"Now,  by  my  faith,"  said  good  Robin,  "enough  has  been  said. 
Take  good  heed,  for  I  fear  me  ye  will  both  be  evil  a-paid  if  he  get 
a  chance  to  swing  his  wicked  tree  around  your  noddles." 

"Be  not  afraid,  dear  master,  that  we  two  can  be  bested  by 
any  base  beggar  that  carries  naught  but  a  staff!  Thou  shalt 
shortly  see  that  his  staff  will  stand  him  in  no  stead.  He  shall 
be  brought  back  again,  fast  bound,  to  see  if  thou  wilt  have  us 
slay  him." 

"Be  sly,  then,"  said  Robin,  "and  by  stealth  work  your  way 
into  his  path  before  he  is  aware.  Then  pounce  upon  him,  and 
first  of  all  lay  hands  on  his  staff." 

[167] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

The  two  outlaws  then  left  Robin,  clinging  to  a  tree,  like  a 
poor,  tottering  old  man.  Now  the  beggar  had  mended  his  pace 
and  was  striding  along  over  the  hill,  giving  no  thought  to  the 
trouble  he  had  caused  and  only  anxious  to  reach  his  lodging  ere 
nightfall.  The  two  outlaws  ran  at  full  speed  by  a  lower  path, 
careless  of  the  mud  and  briars  along  the  way,  going  a  distance 
of  over  three  miles.  Then,  turning  to  a  little  clump  of  bushes 
in  a  glen  that  the  beggar  must  surely  pass,  they  hid  themselves 
close  behind  trees  on  each  side  of  the  path,  standing  ready  till  the 
beggar  drew  nigh.  After  a  little  they  saw  him  coming,  and  just 
as  he  got  betwixt  them  both  leaped  upon  him.  One  gripped  the 
pike-staff;  and  the  other,  with  drawn  dagger  at  his  breast, 
cried : 

"False  and  bloody  knave,  quit  thy  staff,  or  thou  shalt  need  a 
priest.  Stir  but  a  hair  under  thy  three  hats  and,  by  Saint  Wil- 
frid, I  will  drive  this  dirk  to  the  hilt  in  thy  black  heart." 

Taken  off  his  guard,  the  beggar  was  so  affrighted  that  he  dared 
not  move.  He  could  not  run,  he  could  not  wield  his  staff.  He  was 
not  sure  but  other  outlaws  might  be  near;  so  in  despair,  thinking 
that  at  last  his  life's  end  was  near  at  hand,  he  began  to  crave 
mercy. 

"Grant  me  my  life,"  he  pleaded,  "and  hold  away  that  ugly 
knife.  I  never  harmed  you  in  all  my  life,  neither  by  night  nor 
day,  and  indeed  you  do  a  great  sin  if  you  slay  a  poor  silly 
beggar." 

"Thou  liest,  false  and  cruel  varlet,"  cried  the  outlaw  who  held 
his  staff.  "Thou  hast  near  slain  the  gentlest  and  kindest  man 
that  e'er  was  born.  Back  again  to  him  thou  shalt  be  led,  fast 
bound  with  thongs,  to  see  if  he  will  have  thee  slain  or  bid  us  hang 
thee  on  a  tree." 

Then  the  beggar  thought  that  all  was  done  with  him,  though  if 
he  could  but  escape  out  of  their  hands  and  get  hold  of  his  staff 
he  was  sure  that  he  would  teach  them  another  game.  While 
they  made  ready  to  bind  him  he  cudgeled  his  brains  for  some  wily 
scheme  to  free  himself.  The  only  way  that  came  into  his  mind 
was  to  tempt  them  with  money;  so  he  said: 

[168! 


THE   BEGGAR   FLUNG  THE  MEAL  IN  THEIR  FACES 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"  Brave  gentlemen,  be  good  to  me,  and  let  me  go.  It  helps  you 
not  a  flea  to  take  a  beggar's  blood.  'Twas  but  to  save  mine  own 
hide  that  I  did  hurt  your  master,  and  listen,  good  friends — I  will 
give  you  a  recompense  that  shall  make  you  rich  if  you  will  but 
set  me  free  and  do  me  no  more  harm.  I  will  give  you  a  hundred 
pounds,  and  much  more  odd  silver  that  I  have  gathered  these 
many  years.  Under  this  clouted  cloak  I  have  it,  far  hidden 
beneath  its  folds  next  to  my  skin  and  eke  in  the  bottom  of  my 
meal-bag." 

To  this  neither  of  the  young  men  answered  a  word,  but  each 
looked  at  his  companion  to  see  whether  he  would  be  false  to  his 
honor  and  disgrace  the  band.  One  argued,  "We  will  take  the 
money  to  our  captain  and  tell  him  that  the  beggar  is  slain." 
The  other  said,  "Our  orders  were  'Bring  him  back  alive  or  dead/" 
At  last  they  agreed  to  yield  to  the  beggar's  counsel  and  let  him 
go,  then  follow  after  and  take  him  again  by  stealth  when  they  had 
his  money;  for,  being  swift  of  foot,  they  might  easily  overtake 
him. 

"False  knave,"  said  one,  "say  no  more,  but  get  the  money 
and  count  it  out.  'Tis  little  enough  to  pay  for  the  ill  turn  thou 
hast  done  our  master;  yet  come  what  may,  if  thou  dost  give  us 
the  money  now  we  will  not  take  thee  back." 

So  the  beggar  thanked  them  right  heartily,  and  straightway  set 
about  loosening  his  clouted  cloak  to  spread  it  on  the  ground.  Then 
he  took  from  his  neck  a  bag  containing  over  two  pecks  of  meal, 
which  he  set  down  upon  the  cloak.  Opening  wide  the  bag,  he 
bent  down  and  felt  in  every  nook  and  corner  for  the  money.  Both 
young  men  drew  their  faces  closer  to  see  the  gold  appear,  when  of 
a  sudden  the  beggar  lifted  out  two  great  handfuls  of  meal  and 
flung  it  in  their  faces,  blinding  them  so  that  they  could  do  naught 
with  their  hands  save  strive  to  wipe  the  meal  from  eyes,  nose,  and 
mouth.  In  a  trice  the  beggar  grasped  his  pike-staff  and,  with  a 
gleeful  laugh,  cried : 

"Now,  my  pretty  pair  of  blades,  if  I've  done  you  wrong  in 
mealing  of  your  clothes,  with  my  staff  I  will  strike  off  the  meal 
again." 


ROBIN    HOOD 

With  that,  he  began  to  ply  his  staff,  filling  the  air  with  meal 
from  their  bodies  as  his  mighty  blows  fell  on  their  shoulders, 
necks,  and  arms.  The  young  outlaws,  half  blinded  and  choked, 
could  do  naught  to  help  themselves.  They  turned  and  ran  with 
all  the  speed  they  could  muster,  leaving  the  beggar  shaking  his 
staff  in  the  air  and  calling  upon  them  to  stay  awhile  and  get  well 
dusted. 

"What's  all  this  haste?"  he  cried.  "May  not  you  tarry  still? 
I'll  pay  you  with  a  right  good  will  until  ye  have  had  enough  and 
to  spare.  The  shakings  of  my  meal-bag  have  by  chance  blown 
into  your  eyes,  but  what  of  that?  I  have  a  good  pike-staff 
that  will  soon  make  them  clear." 

Thus  he  went  on  entreating  them  in  right  loving  fashion  to 
tarry,  but  the  young  outlaws  heard  him  not,  for  they  were  far 
away.  Since  the  night  was  creeping  on  apace,  it  would  be  vain 
to  follow  and  attack  him  now,  so  they  thought  it  wise  to  return, 
and  with  sad  hearts  and  downcast  looks  they  got  them  back  to 
their  master. 

"Well,  my  comrades,"  asked  Robin,  "how  did  ye  speed  in  your 
quest?" 

They  answered  him,  "Full  ill,  and  we  were  evil  a-paid." 

"That  cannot  be,"  quoth  Robin.  "A  man  would  think  to 
look  at  your  clothes  that  ye  have  been  working  for  the  miller. 
Tell  me  the  matter  truly — how  ye  fared,  and  what  ye  have  done 
with  the  bold  beggar  I  sent  you  for  but  now." 

The  young  men  drooped  down,  hanging  their  heads  for  very 
shame,  and  could  not  speak  a  word.  Then,  with  true  anger  in 
his  voice,  Robin  said : 

"Because  I  fell  beneath  the  cudgel  of  this  beggar  fiend  I  think 
ye  feared  he  would  serve  you  in  the  same  fashion." 

At  these  words,  so  true  and  so  just,  the  young  men  confessed, 
and  told  Robin  the  truth  all  to  the  end  —  how  the  beggar 
blinded  them  with  the  meal,  how  he  basted  their  bones  so 
sore  to  dust  it  from  their  clothes,  and  how  they  fled  to  the 
forest. 

Good  Robin  cried  out:  "Fie,  fie  for  shame!  We  are  dis- 
[172] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

honored   forevermore.      Help   me  to  lift  my  weary  bones,  and 
take  me  quickly  to  my  bower." 

As  they  carried  him  along  the  path  he  thought  he  would  full 
fain  have  revenge,  yet  even  in  his  pain  he  smiled  to  think  that 
two  of  his  merry  young  men  had  gotten  a  taste  of  that  beggar's 
pike-staff  besides  himself. 


XVI 


ROBIN    SELLS    POTS    AND    DISHES 

)BIN  was  angered  to  the  depths  of  his  heart 
at  thought  of  the  beggar's  brutishness,  for  he 
himself  had  never  in  his  life  struck  a  fallen 
foe,  to  say  nothing  of  beating  a  man  who  lay 
senseless  and  helpless  at  his  feet.  Yet  anon 
he  bethought  him:  "In  sooth,  I  was  to  blame! 
I  brought  it  upon  mine  own  head,  and  must 
perforce  bear  the  pain  I  got."  Such  were  his  thoughts  as  he 
painfully  dragged  his  aching  bones  along,  with  the  help  of  his 
two  followers,  back  through  the  forest  to  the  oak  glade.  It 
seemed  an  age  before  he  got  there,  and  twice  he  fainted  from 
weakness.  Little  John  met  them  with  a  very  sad  face,  and  he 
wept  to  see  his  master  in  such  a  plight.  Then  with  his  strong 
arms  he  fairly  carried  Robin  to  his  bower,  there  to  lie  a  month 
or  more  till  his  swollen,  bruised  body  grew  strong  and  well  once 
more. 

Many  a  time  he  bemoaned  himself  bitterly  to  Little  John 
because  he  could  not  go  abroad.  Then,  with  comforting  words, 
mixed  with  a  spice  of  sound  advice,  Little  John  would  soothe 
him,  saying: 

"In  truth,  my  dear  master,  thou  art  too  prone  to  fight  with 
[174] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

quarter-staff  against  a  foe  more  used  to  that  weapon.  With 
thy  good  long-bow,  the  case  is  different,  for  thou  would'st  ever 
be  the  victor." 

"I  cannot  in  cold  blood,"  quoth  Robin,  "send  a  shaft  through 
a  foe's  body  with  but  a  pace  or  two  between  us.  Once  I  slew  a 
man,  and  ne'er  again  will  I  take  life  save  at  dire  need  or  in  the 
heat  of  combat.  But,  by  the  mass,  I  will  no  longer  lie  here  like 
a  cat  tied  in  a  bag." 

Again  Little  John  would  gently  chide  his  master,  bidding  him 
wait  at  least  till  he  could  stand  upon  his  legs  without  wabbling. 
"For,"  said  he,  "our  treasure  is  ample,  our  wants  are  all  sup- 
plied, and  the  men  content.  Be  patient,  therefore,  for  in  a  week 
or  more,  once  again  thou  wilt  be  strong — long  before  the  wintry 
wind  blows  through  the  glade.'* 

At  last,  toward  the  end  of  summer,  the  three  best  leeches  of 
the  band — Friar  Tuck,  Arthur-a-Bland,  and  Little  John — agreed 
that  Robin  was  well  enough  to  go  upon  short  trips  to  hunt  the 
deer.  Shooting  contests  were  held  and  games  resumed,  as  a 
change  from  the  more  serious  work  of  gathering  in  the  winter 
stores.  It  was  now  the  middle  of  August.  The  days  were 
warm,  the  evenings  long  and  light  till  ten  o'clock,  so  that  the 
band  was  in  a  merry  mood,  as  was  their  wont  when  all  went 
well. 

Thus  it  was  that,  on  the  next  day,  a  bright,  fair  morn,  being  a 
Saturday  and  a  market-day,  Robin,  Little  John,  and  others  of  the 
band  set  forth  toward  the  great  highway  that  ran  along  the  forest 
edge,  to  gather  tolls  from  any  that  were  able  to  pay,  and  give 
away,  for  charity's  sake,  to  those  in  dire  need.  Anon  they  saw 
a  man  sitting  on  the  shafts  of  a  rude  little  cart  pulled  by  a  pony. 
The  cart  was  filled  with  mugs,  basins,  and  other  pottery  vessels, 
which  the  man  bought  very  cheap  at  Stoke,  where  they  were 
made,  and  carted  from  town  to  town  to  sell  at  a  good  profit. 
He  was  singing  a  merry  ditty,  now  and  then  whipping  up  his 
pony  that  he  might  reach  Nottingham  market  in  good  time. 
It  was  plain  by  his  looks  that  he  could  take  good  care  of  his 
pots  as  well  as  himself. 

[i7Sl 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Yonder  comes  a  stout  potter,"  quoth  jolly  Robin,  "that 
hath  crossed  this  forest  many  a  time,  yet  hath  never  paid  one 
penny  of  passage  money  to  us.  He  shall  not  escape  us  this  time, 
I  warrant." 

"Better  let  him  pass,  good  master,"  said  Little  John.  "I  met 
the  fellow  once  at  Wentbridge,  and  he  gave  me  three  such  clouts 
that  I  want  no  more  from  him,  though  I  gave  him  clout  for  clout. 
I  will  lay  forty  shillings  there  is  not  a  man  among  us  that  can 
make  the  potter  pay  toll." 

Bold  Robin  could  not  let  that  pass.  "Here  are  forty  shillings," 
he  cried,  "and  more  will  I  lay  that  I  can  make  that  bold  potter 
pay  some  token  for  his  passage." 

"He  will  give  thee  his  staff  for  a  token!  I  vow  that  from  him 
thou  wilt  get  no  other  pay,  my  master,"  said  John.  But  Robin, 
without  more  words,  strode  to  the  middle  of  the  highroad,  and, 
standing  firm  as  a  rock  till  the  potter  drew  nigh,  laid  his  hand 
on  the  bridle,  bidding  the  man  stand. 

"Fellow,"  bawled  the  potter,  "what  is  thy  will?" 

"All  these  three  years  and  more,  potter,"  quoth  Robin,  "thou 
hast  passed  by  this  way,  yet  never  hast  been  so  courteous  as  to 
pay  a  penny  of  toll  to  us." 

"What  is  thy  name?"  said  the  potter,  "and  what  is  thy  right 
to  ask  for  passage  money  of  me  on  the  King's  highway?" 

"Robin  Hood  is  my  name,  and  king  of  these  woods  am  I,  to 
whom  it  is  thy  bounden  duty  to  pay  toll." 

"Not  a  bad  farthing  shalt  thou  get  from  me,"  said  the  potter. 
"Let  go  thy  hand  from  my  horse,  or  I  vow  to  strike  it  off  with 
my  staff."  Straightway  leaping  down  from  the  shaft,  he  un- 
strapped from  under  the  cart  a  stout  pike-staff,  saying  in  angry 
tones:  "Now,  bold  outlaw,  take  thy  hand  from  my  horse." 

Robin  drew  his  sword  and,  with  a  buckler  upon  his  arm,  ad- 
vanced to  meet  the  potter,  who  with  a  powerful  balk-stroke 
smote  off  the  shield.  In  a  trice  the  naughty  pike-staff  was  brought 
down  with  another  fierce  blow  on  Robin's  neck  as  he  stooped 
to  get  his  buckler  again.  So  stiff  was  the  stroke  that  it  sent 
Robin  sprawling  on  the  ground. 

[176] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Let  us  go  to  help  our  master,"  cried  Little  John,  "or  yon 
potter  will  do  him  harm." 

Then,  running  toward  Robin,  with  shouts  of  laughter,  he  said : 
"Who  has  won  the  wager  now?  Shall  I  have  the  forty  shillings, 
or  shall  ye,  master,  have  mine?" 

"Yea,  were  they  a  hundred  shillings,"  said  Robin,  "in  faith, 
they  are  all  thine." 

"There  is  little  courtesy,"  said  the  potter,  "as  I  have  heard 
wise  men  say,  to  take  from  a  poor  yeoman  what  little  he  hath 
while  driving  along  the  highway." 

"By  my  faith,  thou  saist  true,"  said  Robin,  "and  from  this 
day  forth  thou  shalt  never  be  hindered;  for  a  friendship  would 
I  have  with  thee,  and  good  payment  will  I  give.  Make  exchange 
with  me  of  thy  clothing,  for  I  will  sell  pots  in  Nottingham  town, 
and  thou  shalt  stay  here  in  the  forest  to  feast  on  good  venison. 
When  I  come  back,  if  I  sell  all,  thine  shall  be  the  gain." 

"Marry,  to  that  I  will  agree,"  quoth  the  potter.  "Thou  shalt 
find  me  an  honest  fellow;  and  if  thou  canst  sell  my  pots  well, 
come  back  again  when  thou  dost  list." 

Then  spake  Little  John  and  his  comrades,  saying:  "Master, 
take  care  and  beware  of  the  Sheriff,  for  he  would  gladly  slay  thee 
by  fair  means  or  foul.  Alone,  thou  shalt  be  in  great  jeopardy." 

"Nay,  my  good  comrades,"  quoth  Robin,  "let  me  be,  for  by 
the  help  of  our  Good  Lady  to  Nottingham  will  I  go." 

So  Robin  changed  clothes  with  the  potter,  and,  with  some 
touches  here  and  there  to  make  a  better  disguise,  he  jumped 
on  the  shaft  of  the  cart  and  drove  away  in  a  jolly  mood,  singing 
a  merry  song.  When  he  reached  Nottingham,  he  drew  up  his 
horse  close  by  the  Sheriff's  gate,  and  gave  it  some  oats  and  hay. 
Then  setting  forth  his  pots,  both  large  and  small,  upon  the  cart, 
so  as  to  make  the  best  show,  he  began  to  cry  out: 

"Crocks  and  pots,  jugs  and  mugs,  who  wants  to  buy?  I 
give  one  extra,  no  matter  how  large  or  small." 

This  way  of  bargaining  was  new  to  the  wives  and  widows  of 
Nottingham,  and  soon  drew  a  large  crowd  round  his  cart.  Not 
content  with  throwing  in  an  extra  pot,  Robin  sold  pots  worth 

12  [177] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

five  pence  for  three  pence.  This  made  the  women  gape,  both 
old  and  young;  and  while  they  bought  they  said  to  each  other, 
slyly,  "This  potter  will  never  thrive  at  this  rate." 

"Thou  wilt  have  none  left'ere  long,  if  thou  dost  sell  so  cheap," 
said  one  buxom  wife. 

"For  that  cause  came  I  hither,"  quoth  smiling  Robin,  "to 
sell  all  I  have."  And  he  did  sell  so  fast  that  before  noon  only 
five  pieces  were  left. 

"Well  done,  thou  cunning  potter,"  said  Robin  to  himself. 
"These  five  unsold  pots  will  I  give  with  my  compliments  to  the 
Sheriff's  wife."  And  so,  in  sooth,  he  did. 

"Grammercy,  sir,"  said  the  Sheriff's  wife,  with  a  tender  smile 
on  good  Robin.  "When  thou  dost  come  to  this  town  again  I 
shall  buy  what  pots  I  want  from  you,  so  much  do  I  like  thy 
courtesy.  Thy  kindness  is  truly  great,  and  I  would  that  thou 
mightest  come  and  dine  with  the  Sheriff  and  me." 

"God's  mercy,  good  lady,"  said  Robin,  "thy  bidding  shall 
be  done." 

Then  a  young  maid  carried  in  the  pots,  and  Robin  followed  the 
Sheriff's  wife  to  the  hall,  where  he  met  the  Sheriff,  who  spake 
him  fair. 

"Look,"  quoth  the  lady,  "what  this  potter  hath  given  thee 
and  me  for  a  present — five  pots,  both  large  and  small." 

"He  is  full  welcome,"  said  the  Sheriff.  "Let  us  enter  and  go 
to  dine." 

As  they  sat  at  the  table,  with  merry  talk  and  laughter,  two 
of  the  Sheriff's  men  began  to  speak  of  a  prize  of  forty  shillings 
offered  for  the  best  shooting  with  the  long-bow  among  the  towns- 
people that  day.  "Now,  as  I  am  a  true  Christian  man,"  Robin 
said  to  himself,  "this  shooting-match  will  I  see." 

When  they  had  appeased  their  hunger  upon  the  very  best  of 
bread,  ale,  and  wine,  to  the  shooting-butts  they  all  went  to  see 
who  would  win  the  prize.  The  Sheriff's  men  began  to  shoot, 
but  they  were  very  poor  archers,  and  none  of  them  got  nearer 
the  mark  than  half  the  length  of  a  long-bow.  The  potter  looked 
on  with  great  contempt;  and  when  the  Sheriff  said,  "What 


I  GIVE  ONE  EXTRA,  NO  MATTER  HOW  LARGE  OR  SMALL" 


ROBIN    HOOD 

thinkest  thou,  good  potter,  of  our  archery?"  he  made  answer: 
"In  plain  truth,  it  seemeth  to  me  to  be  very  vile.  An  I  had  a 
bow,  with  one  shot  I  would  beat  them  all." 

"I  warrant  thou  shalt  have  a  bow  for  that  one  shot,"  quoth  the 
Sheriff,  "the  best  thou  mayst  choose  from  such  as  we  have.  Thou 
seemest  strong  and  stalwart  as  any  here."  He  then  bade  a  yeo- 
man that  stood  by  bring  some  bows  for  the  potter  to  choose  from. 

"  Tis  the  best  here,"  quoth  Robin,  as  he  took  up  a  bow, 
"though  in  sooth  'tis  a  poor,  weak  thing.  Nevertheless,  with  it 
I  will  make  good  my  word." 

So  without  more  ado  he  strode  up  to  the  line,  side  by  side  with 
the  Sheriff's  men,  who  smiled  and  twitted  him  upon  his  impu- 
dence in  daring  to  shoot  in  such  company.  The  potter  answered 
naught,  but,  pulling  the  string  to  his  ear,  he  carelessly  shot  the 
arrow  within  a  foot  of  the  mark.  Then  the  Sheriff's  men  tried 
once  more  with  little  better  success.  When  the  potter  again  took 
his  place  to  shoot,  they  had  greater  respect  for  his  skill  and 
waited  anxiously  to  see  what  he  would  do.  Taking  much  more 
careful  aim,  he  let  fly  the  shaft  and  cleft  the  wand  apart,  much 
to  the  wonder  of  the  Sheriff's  men,  who  thought  it  great  shame 
that  a  common  potter  should  win  the  prize  from  them.  But 
the  Sheriff  and  his  wife  were  both  mightily  pleased,  and  said  to 
the  potter: 

"Thou  art  a  man  worthy  to  bear  a  bow  in  whatever  place  thou 
goest." 

"In  my  cart,"  he  made  answer,  "I  have  a  bow  that  I  had 
from  Robin  Hood." 

"Knowest  thou  Robin  Hood?"  asked  the  surprised  Sheriff. 
"Prithee,  tell  me  of  him." 

"A  hundred  times,"  replied  the  potter,  "have  I  shot  with  him 
under  his  trysting-tree." 

"By  my  faith,"  quoth  the  Sheriff,  "I  would  give  a  hundred 
pounds  to  have  that  villainous  outlaw  now  stand  before  me  here." 

"I  would  fain  win  that  hundred  pounds,"  said  the  potter,  "and 
to-morrow  after  we  have  taken  our  breakfast,  if  thou  wilt  boldly 
go  with  me,  I  will  e'en  show  thee  Robin  Hood." 

[181] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"I  will  requite  thee  well,"  said  the  Sheriff,  joyfully.  "By  my 
faith,  thou  shalt  not  repent  of  serving  me  in  this  matter." 

Upon  the  morrow  the  potter  was  early  ready  with  horse  and 
cart.  Taking  leave  of  the  Sheriff's  wife,  he  thanked  her  heartily 
for  her  good  cheer. 

"Good  dame,"  quoth  he,  "for  my  love  to  you,  be  pleased  to 
wear  this  gold  ring." 

"Grammercy,  good  sir,  I  yield  to  thy  wish,  for  I  trow  the 
Sheriff's  heart  was  never  so  light  to  see  the  fair  forest  as  in  the 
company  of  so  gallant  a  companion." 

So  the  Sheriff,  on  his  horse,  and  the  potter,  seated  in  his  little 
cart,  both  set  off  for  Sherwood. 

The  morning  was  bright  and  warm,  and  the  little  birds  sang 
merrily  among  the  green  leaves.  "The  greenwood  is  a  merry 
place,"  said  Robin,  "for  a  man  that  has  aught  to  spend,  and  by  the 
sound  of  my  horn  we  shall  soon  know  if  Robin  Hood  be  near  at 
hand."  Then  he  set  his  horn  to  his  mouth  and  blew  a  blast  both 
loud  and  long,  that  could  be  heard  far  adown  the  forest  glade. 

"I  hear  my  master's  call,"  said  Little  John.  "Let  us  haste, 
and  run  to  see  if  all  be  well."  Anon  through  an  opening  of  the 
trees  they  appeared  before  the  potter  and  addressed  him,  saying: 

"Master,  how  hast  thou  fared  in  Nottingham?  Hast  thou  sold 
all  thy  wares?" 

"Yea,  by  my  troth,  Little  John.  Look  thou  and  see.  I  have 
brought  the  Sheriff  of  Nottingham  in  exchange  for  my  goods." 

"He  is  full  welcome,"  said  Little  John.  "Such  tidings  make 
us  glad." 

'Twas  then  that  the  Sheriff  saw  the  trick  that  the  potter  had 
served  him,  and  he  thought  he  would  rather  have  given  a  hundred 
pounds  than  to  have  met  Robin  Hood  that  day. 

"Had  I  known,"  quoth  he,  "that  thou  wert  Robin  Hood,  thou 
shouldst  not  have  seen  this  fair  forest  for  a  thousand  years." 

"That  wot  I  well,"  said  jolly  Robin,  laughing.  "Therefore 
thou  shalt  leave  thy  horse  and  other  gear  with  us.  Hither  thou 
earnest  a-horseback,  and  back  thou  shalt  go  afoot  to  give  my 
greetings  to  thy  good  wife  at  home.  I  shall  give  her  a  white 

[182] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

palfrey,  and  thou  mayst  tell  her  that  had  she  used  less  courtesy 
thou  wouldst  have  fared  much  more  sadly  at  our  hands."  Thus 
the  Sheriff  parted  from  Robin,  and  to  Nottingham  he  took  his 
way. 

His  wife  was  there  to  give  him  a  welcome.  "How  didst  thou 
fare  in  the  greenwood?"  she  said.  "And  hast  thou  brought 
Robin  home?" 

The  Sheriff  swore  a  great  oath  and  said:  "I  have  been  basely 
scorned,  and  tricked  of  all  the  moneys  I  took  to  the  greenwood. 
My  large,  fine  horse,  its  gold  trappings,  my  pouch  with  a  hundred 
pounds,  were  all  stript  from  me  amid  the  jeers  and  merry  quips 
of  that  vile  band." 

Upon  that,  the  good  dame  laughed  loud  and  long.  "Now," 
quoth  she,  "he  has  then  been  well  paid  for  all  those  pots  he  gave 
to  us." 

So  we  leave  the  unhappy  Sheriff  and  return  to  the  greenwood, 
where  Robin  called  the  potter  to  him,  saying,  "Good  potter,  what 
were  thy  pots  worth  that  I  sold  in  Nottingham  market?" 

Quoth  the  potter:  "They  were  worth  two  pounds,  but  I  should 
have  traded  and  made  more  by  my  traffic." 

"Thou  shalt  have  ten  pounds,"  said  jolly  Robin.  "And  re- 
member, bold  potter,  when  thou  comest  to  the  greenwood  thou 
shalt  ever  be  welcome." 

So  they  parted  as  the  best  of  friends,  each  well  satisfied  with 
the  other.  Then  the  potter  set  off  blithe  and  merry  on  his  way 
back  to  Stoke  to  get  his  cart  refilled  with  pots  and  crocks,  hoping 
to  make  as  good  a  trade  again.  "  But  of  that,"  quoth  he,  "  I  have 
grave  doubts — there  is  but  one  Robin  Hood." 


XVII 

ROBIN   AND   SIR   GUY   OF   GISBOURNE 

>HIS  latest  clever  trick  of  Robin  Hood's  was 
the  last  straw  that  broke  the  Sheriff's  pa- 
tience. He  wept  and  sobbed;  he  wailed  and 
sighed  full  sore.  Each  man  that  sat  at  meat 
with  him  or  passed  him  upon  the  streets  of 
Nottingham  town  seemed  to  be  Robin  Hood  in 
disguise.  The  disgrace  was  so  much  the  harder 
to  bear  because  his  wife  found  delight  in  constantly  talking  of  the 
comely,  courteous  outlaw  and  his  present  of  the  gold  ring,  which  she 
still  wore.  So  the  Sheriff  longed  for  a  dire  revenge,  and  searched 
eagerly  for  some  means  whereby  he  might  put  an  end  at  once  and 
forever  to  the  troubles  he  had  borne  for  twenty-odd  years. 

At  last  he  bethought  him  to  give  a  great  feast  and  invite  as 
many  as  would  come  of  the  barons  and  knights  of  the  shire.  For 
he  thought  that  if  they  would  not  help  him  with  money  and  men 
they  might  at  least  advise  him  how  best  to  rid  the  near-by  forests 
of  these  pests.  He  had  oft  tried  to  get  the  aid  of  bold  yeomen 
of  his  town,  but  they  had  flatly  said  him  nay,  for  many  of  them 
had  received  kindness  from  Robin  and  his  men.  So  the  Sheriff 
bade  his  servants  prepare  a  great  feast,  to  which  came  not  a  few 
of  the  barons  and  knights. 

[186] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

When  they  had  eaten  of  the  good  things  and  drunk  well  of 
the  wine,  the  Sheriff  arose  and  addressed  them,  laying  bare  all 
his  woe.  Thereat  one  brave  knight  got  upon  his  feet  and  said: 

"Sir  Sheriff,  while  we  grieve  with  thee  in  this  trouble,  not 
one  of  us  can  soil  his  knightly  hands  to  draw  sword  in  so  mean 
a  cause — to  wit,  the  catching  of  a  rascally  deer-stealer.  Such 
base  deeds  are  meet  for  thy  yeomen  or  the  King's  foresters." 

"Oft  have  I  promised  them  much  gold,"  quoth  the  Sheriff, 
"but  they  either  will  not  or  dare  not  encounter  this  band.  Yea, 
they  all  turn  pale  at  the  name  of  Robin  Hood." 

"In  faith,"  quoth  the  knight,  "I  know  not  any  other  means 
whereby  thou  canst  have  thy  will  unless,  haply,  some  knight 
down  at  the  heels  for  want  of  friends  and  gold  were  willing  to 
lead  a  company  of  trained  men  to  the  forest  and  drive  the  out- 
laws away." 

"Dost  thou,  Sir  Knight,  know  of  such  a  one?*' 

"There  is  one,"  replied  the  knight,  "who  would  do  thy  bid- 
ding, if  the  prize  were  great.  This  Sir  Guy  of  Gisbourne  is 
bold  enough  to  do  any  deed  thou  mayst  set  for  him,  nor  will 
he  value  his  knightly  honor  above  five  hundred  pounds." 

After  the  guests  had  gone  the  Sheriff  lost  no  time  in  seeking 
out  this  Sir  Guy,  and  on  the  morrow  he  sent  a  messenger  on  horse- 
back to  the  little  market-town  of  Gisbourne  in  the  west  Riding 
of  Yorkshire.  Now  Sir  Guy  was  poor;  he  had  wasted  his  sub- 
stance in  riotous  living;  but,  instead  of  repenting,  he  was  ever 
ready  to  do  any  deed,  however  base,  not  only  because  he  needed 
gold,  but  for  the  mere  love  of  doing  evil. 

In  his  native  town  he  was  feared  by  every  man,  and  ab- 
horred by  every  wife,  widow,  or  lass.  Besides  his  wickedness  he 
was  the  ugliest  creature  in  merry  England.  His  naturally  savage 
features  were  scarred  by  many  wounds  and  cuts,  for  he  had 
been  to  the  wars  in  the  Holy  Land,  in  Ireland,  in  Scotland,  and 
in  the  South.  Everywhere  he  went,  ever  fighting;  yet  he  seemed 
to  bear  a  charmed  life.  Utterly  cruel,  with  a  black  and  stony 
heart,  his  bold  and  fierce  demeanor  affrighted  all  men.  When 
he  was  angry,  his  face  2nd  scars  turned  a  livid  blue,  so  awful  to 

[i87l 


ROBIN    HOOD 

look  upon  that  his  foes  took  him  for  a  demon  risen  from  the 
regions  below.  It  was  his  wont  to  go  clad  from  head  to  foot  in 
the  hide  of  a  horse.  The  ears  stood  up  from  a  hood,  back  of 
which  hung  the  mane,  and  below  was  the  horse's  tail.  This 
body-covering  was  tanned  soft  with  the  hair  outside,  so  that  he 
who  wore  it  looked  more  a  beast  than  a  man.  Such,  then,  was 
the  evil  Sir  Guy,  whom  the  Sheriff's  messenger  went  to  seek 
as  a  leader  to  fight  and  destroy  the  good  and  kind  Robin  Hood 
and  his  merry  outlaws. 

When  he  reached  the  little  town  of  Gisbourne,  the  messenger 
had  little  trouble  in  learning  the  whereabouts  of  him  he  sought. 

"What  is  the  price?"  roared  Sir  Guy,  when  he  had  heard  the 
tale.  "Repeat  to  me  the  sum,  that  I  be  not  mistaken." 

"Five  hundred  pounds  in  good  coin,"  said  the  messenger, 
"for  the  living  body  of  Robin  Hood,  or  his  head  if  thou  slayest 
him." 

'  'Tis  a  fair  sum  for  so  slight  a  deed,"  said  Sir  Guy,  slowly, 
"and,  to  be  brief,  I  will  do  the  Sheriff's  will.  The  outlaw's  head 
is  mine;  the  money  is  earned.  Dost  thou  hear  that?"  Down 
came  his  fist  with  such  a  crack  on  the  table  that  the  messenger 
nearly  jumped  out  of  his  skin. 

"Yea,  Sir  Guy,  I  hear,  and  doubt  it  not." 

"Well  for  thee  thou  hast  no  doubts.  What,  ho!  knavish  hind!" 
he  shouted  to  a  servant.  "Get  my  horse,  and  furnish  him  for 
combat.  Get  me  my  two  Irish  daggers  and  my  longest  brown 
Egyptian  blade.  There  is  work  afoot  for  us,  so  choose  the  tough- 
est yew  long-bow  and  double-pointed  shafts,  and  be  ready  anon." 

All  was  soon  in  readiness,  and  ere  long  the  two  were  riding 
back  toward  Nottingham;  which  they  reached  late  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  Meanwhile,  the  Sheriff  had  not  been  idle.  He  fore- 
saw that  Sir  Guy  would  willingly  do  a  work  so  much  to  his  taste, 
especially  for  a  prize  so  large.  He  had  already  gathered  together 
a  hundred  of  his  own  men  and  two  hundred  of  the  King's  foresters. 
The  latter  he  would  place  under  the  command  of  Sir  Guy,  and 
he  himself  would  lead  his  own  servants.  He  was  no  coward,  to 
say  sooth,  though  his  men  were  not  of  the  same  metal. 

[188] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

When  the  knight  presented  himself,  the  Sheriff's  joy  was  un- 
bounded. "Such  a  fierce-looking  monster  did  I  ne'er  behold," 
he  thought.  "Surely  he  will  slay  bold  Robin."  Then  he  said 
aloud:  "Thrice  welcome  art  thou,  Sir  Knight  of  Gisbourne.  Let 
us  dine  and  then  talk  of  what  we  have  to  do." 

So  they  went  into  the  hall,  where  Sir  Guy  seated  himself 
opposite  the  place  where  the  Sheriff's  wife  would  sit.  Un- 
sheathing his  two  Irish  daggers,  he  laid  one  shining  blade  close 
beside  his  platter,  the  other  beside  his  wine-goblet,  and  pre- 
pared to  eat.  The  Sheriff's  wife  had  been  told  of  this  man, 
and  what  he  was  about  to  do,  but  she  was  so  affrighted  at  the 
knives  and  the  fellow's  evil  looks  that  she  fainted  dead  away 
in  the  arms  of  her  husband,  who  helped  the  servants  to  carry 
her  away  from  the  table. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  thy  good  lady,  Sir  Sheriff?"  asked 
Guy. 

"In  sooth,"  said  he,  "she  is  overcome  with  joy  to  know  that 
the  outlaw's  end  is  near." 

"Ay,  by  the  bones  of  Saint  Withold!"  growled  Sir  Guy,  "of 
a  truth  it  is  so.  But  tell  me,  what  manner  of  man  is  this  Robin 
Hood,  famed  as  he  is  so  far  and  wide?  Is  he  big  of  bone  and 
broad  of  chest,  like  King  Richard,  that  all  men  fear  him?" 

"Nay,  by  the  mass,"  quoth  the  Sheriff,  "he  is  as  mild  as  a 
sucking  pig  and  gentle  as  a  lamb.  Marry,  the  cooing  turtle- 
dove could  not  match  him  in  soft  persuasion.  But  mark  thee 
well,  Sir  Knight,  no  fox  was  ever  so  sly;  no  adder  creeping  through 
the  damp  sward  is  so  silent  as  his  footfall  on  the  grass." 

"And  what  of  his  prowess?"  asked  Sir  Guy.  "I  have  heard 
of  his  skill  in  archery,  but  doubt  it." 

"Doubt  it  not,  Sir  Knight,  for  no  archer  liveth,  nor  ever  lived, 
that  can  match  him.  With  the  broadsword  and  buckler,  and 
eke  with  the  quarter-staff,  he  hath  met  in  combat  the  strongest 
and  best  in  merry  England,  and  he  hath  drawn  them  to  his  band. 
I  know  not  of  any  means  to  take  him  save  to  outnumber  him. 
Outwit  him — 'tis  impossible!  Outfight  him — 'tis  doubtful! 
Haply  if  thou  canst  meet  him  alone,  thou  mayst  have  the 

[191] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

better  of  him.  Indeed,  rather  would  I  see  it  done  in  such  a 
manner  than  in  any  other.  Therefore  it  were  well  that  thou 
shouldst  go  before  us  to  tempt  the  wily  fox,  if  that  may  be, 
to  single  combat.  It  is  well  known  that  he  loves  such  fights; 
and  many,  so  I  hear,  have  met  him,  hand  to  hand,  alone  in  divers 
parts  of  the  forest." 

"Truly,"  said  the  Knight,  "the  thieving  rogue  hath  affrighted 
all  the  bravery  out  of  Nottinghamshire.  Nevertheless,  I  will 
do  as  thou  biddest.  A  blast  from  this  horn  shall  tell  that  he  is 
dead.  But  come,  good  Sheriff,  we  tarry  over-long.  Rest  assured 
that  Robin  Hood  shall  meet  his  end  before  the  moon  doth  cast 
her  beams  through  the  forest  leaves." 

So  the  Sheriff  gave  command,  and  soon  his  three  hundred  stal- 
wart yeomen  and  foresters  stood  ready  to  follow  the  two  leaders, 
who,  both  on  horseback,  rode  in  front  on  their  way  through 
the  forest  to  destroy  the  outlaws'  nest. 

On  that  very  same  morning,  just  before  sunrise,  you  might 
have  seen  all  of  Robin's  merry  men  wrapped  snugly  in  their 
night-cloaks,  fast  asleep  on  the  grassy  sward,  round  about  the 
great  oak.  On  a  low-hanging  branch  above  Robin's  head  sat 
a  throstle,  singing  so  loud  that  it  roused  him  from  his  sleep. 
Half  raising  himself,  he  looked  at  the  bird,  which  kept  pouring 
forth  its  mellow  notes  and  would  not  cease  to  sing.  Then  Robin 
said: 

"Now,  by  my  faith,  this  night  I  had  a  dream,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  two  strong  yeomen  fought  with  me  fast  and  furiously. 
Methought  they  did  beat  me  and  bind  me  fast  to  a  tree,  taking 
from  me  both  bow  and  arrows.  If  I  be  Robin,  and  am  awake 
in  this  merry  wood,  I  will  take  revenge  on  those  two." 

Little  John,  who  lay  by  his  side,  had  also  been  awakened 
by  the  song-bird  and  heard  what  Robin  said. 

"Dreams  are  swift,  master,"  quoth  he,  "even  as  the  wind 
that  blows  o'er  the  hill.  For  if  it  be  never  so  loud  this  night,  to- 
morrow, none  the  less,  it  may  be  still  enough." 

"Marry,  that  is  truth,"  quoth  Robin,  "but  I  shall  go  to 
seek  yonder  strong  yeomen,  if  in  the  forest  they  be." 

[192] 


ROBIN    HO  O  D 

So  he  leaped  up,  and,  throwing  off  his  covering,  shouted  to 
his  comrades:  "My  merry  men,  bestir  yourselves,  and  all  make 
ready.  Little  John,  thou  shalt  go  with  me." 

So  they  all  cast  off  their  cloaks,  took  up  their  bows,  and,  after 
partaking  of  a  hearty  breakfast,  stood  ready  to  march  wherever 
their  brave  captain  should  direct.  And  a  fine  body  of  men  they 
were — alert,  strong,  brave,  obedient — so  Robin  and  Little  John 
thought,  as  they  strode  past  in  single  file  away  to  the  green  forest. 

By  the  time  the  sun  had  risen  high  in  all  his  glorious  splendor, 
the  little  birds  were  singing  on  every  spray  and  twig;  the  cool 
morning  air  was  just  crisp  enough  to  make  walking  in  the  fair 
forest  a  delight  and  put  all  in  a  joyous  mood.  The  band  had 
struck  a  different  path  under  the  leadership  of  Will  Scarlet, 
though  ever  within  sound  of  Robin's  bugle-call  as  he  strode  along 
by  the  side  of  Little  John.  Anon  the  two  came  in  sight  of  a  tall 
figure  leaning  against  a  tree.  He  had  a  long  sword  and  two 
sharp  daggers  that  he  wore  by  his  side,  and  his  body  was  covered 
with  the  hide  of  a  horse,  ears,  mane,  and  tail  complete. 

"God-a-mercy,"  said  Robin,  "what  is  this  thing?  Is  it  man 
or  beast?" 

"Stand  still,"  quoth  Little  John,  "under  this  greenwood  tree 
while  I  go  forth  to  yon  strange  thing  to  know  what  it  doth  mean." 

"Ah,  John,"  quoth  Robin,  "I  see  well  thou  settest  no  store  by 
me.  When  was  I  ever  wont  to  send  my  men  before  and  tarry 
myself  behind  ?  Were  it  not  for  the  breaking  of  my  bow,  John, 
I  would  break  thy  head." 

These  words  rankled  harshly  in  John's  breast.  He  spake  not 
a  word  in  answer,  but  turned  aside  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
then  strode  swiftly  away  to  join  the  main  band,  leaving  Robin 
standing  silent,  alone. 

He  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  when  he  heard  sounds.  As 
he  hurried  forward,  the  sounds  became  shouts  and  cries,  and  at 
last,  when  he  came  near,  he  beheld  a  full  pitched  battle  'twixt 
the  outlaw  band  and  the  Sheriff's  men.  As  he  rushed  along 
his  heart  grew  sick  with  heaviness,  for  he  saw  two  of  the  band 
lying  dead  in  a  hollow  piece  of  ground  by  the  side  of  a  glade, 
13  [  193  1 


ROBIN    HOOD 

and  in  the  distance  was  Will  Scarlet,  leaping  along  over  rocks 
and  stones  for  his  very  life,  with  the  Sheriff  and  seven  score  of 
his  men  close  at  his  heels. 

"One  shot  now  I  will  shoot,"  quoth  John,  "with  all  my  might 
and  main  to  make  yon  Sheriff  that  presses  on  so  fast  stop  in  his 
career." 

Then  he  bent  his  great  long-bow  and  pulled  so  hard  that  it 
burst  in  twain  and  the  parts  fell  down  at  his  feet. 

"Woe  is  me,"  he  cried,  "thou  wicked  wood,  that  ever  thou 
didst  grow  on  a  tree;  for  now  this  day  I  am  undone  when  I 
need  thee  most." 

The  arrow  flew,  but  with  such  a  bad  aim  that  instead  of 
hitting  the  Sheriff  it  struck  Will-a-Trent  to  the  ground — one 
of  the  Sheriff's  men  who  was  very  friendly  to  the  band.  Little 
John's  heart  was  crushed,  and  his  hands  hung  limp  by  his  side. 
Heedless  of  all  that  was  going  on  in  the  fight,  he  was  caught 
by  a  number  of  the  Sheriff's  men,  who  took  him  and  quickly 
bound  him  to  a  tree. 

When  the  Sheriff  heard  that  Little  John  was  taken,  he  came 
up  to  where  the  outlaw  was  pinioned,  to  jeer  and  mock  at  him. 
"I  have  thee  now,"  snarled  he.  "Thou  shalt  be  drawn  uphill 
and  down  dale  tied  to  a  horse's  tail.  Then  I  will  hang  thee  on 
the  topmost  tower  of  Nottingham  Castle." 

"Yet,"  quoth  Little  John,  unafraid,  "thou  mayst  fail  of  thy 
purpose,  if  the  good  saints  have  their  will.  Our  men  are  not 
all  in  my  case." 

"No,"  roared  the  Sheriff,  "but  Robin  Hood  is  now  in  the  toils 
of  the  brave  Sir  Guy  of  Gisbourne." 

Little  John  knew  of  this  fell  knight,  and  his  heart  sank  lower 
than  ever  to  think  that  Robin  was  left  alone  with  this  villain, 
whom  he  now  knew  to  be  the  creature  standing  by  the  tree. 
So  he  repented  sore  that  he  had  crossed  his  dear  master  and  had 
left  him  to  his  fate. 

So  soon  as  Little  John  was  gone,  Robin  Hood  marched  up  to 
the  man  in  the  horse-hide  robe. 

"Good  morrow,  good  fellow!"  quoth  he. 
fiQ4] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Good  morrow,  good  fellow,  to  thee,"  the  other  made  answer. 

"Methinks  by  that  bow  thou  dost  bear  in  thy  hand  thou 
shouldst  be  a  fair  archer,"  said  Robin. 

"I  have  lost  my  way,"  said  the  stranger,  "and  know  not  where 
to  go." 

"I'll  lead  thee,  good  fellow,  through  the  forest  and  be  thy 
guide,"  quoth  Robin. 

"I  am  seeking  for  an  outlaw,"  the  stranger  went  on,  "that 
men  call  Robin  Hood,  and  I  would  give  forty  pounds  if  I  could 
meet  with  him  here." 

"Then  come  along  with  me,  bold  fellow,  and  Robin  thou 
shalt  soon  see.  But  first,  under  this  greenwood  tree  let  us  test 
each  other's  skill  with  bow  and  shaft,  for  haply  we  may  meet 
this  Robin  Hood  by  some  odd  chance  in  the  mean  time." 

"I  like  thy  plan,  brave  archer,"  said  the  stranger;  and  forth- 
with they  cut  a  thin  sapling  that  grew  among  the  underbrush, 
which  they  set  in  the  ground,  with  a  little  garland  on  the  top, 
threescore  rods  away. 

"Lead  on,  good  fellow,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  shoot,  I  prithee." 

"Nay,  by  my  faith,  good  fellow,"  said  the  other,  "thou  shalt 
shoot  first." 

"Well,  so  be  it,"  quoth  Robin;  "I  will  even  do  as  thou  sayest." 
The  first  time  Robin  shot  he  missed  the  wand  by  an  inch;  and 
the  stranger,  though  a  right  good  archer,  shot  a  foot  or  more 
away.  But  upon  the  second  trial  he  placed  the  arrow  inside  the 
garland.  Then  Robin,  as  he  had  done  many  times  before,  loosed 
a  shaft  that  cut  the  wand  in  twain. 

"A  blessing  upon  thy  heart,"  said  the  stranger.  "Fellow,  thy 
shooting  is  good;  and  if  thy  heart  be  as  good  as  thy  hand,  Robin 
Hood  could  do  no  better.  Now  tell  me  thy  name,  brave  archer." 

"Nay,  by  my  faith,"  quoth  bold  Robin,  "that  will  I  not  tell 
till  thou  hast  told  me  thine." 

"I  dwell,"  said  he,  "upon  the  moorlands  of  Yorkshire,  and  when 
I  am  called  by  my  right  name,  men  call  me  Sir  Guy  of  Gisbourne." 

"My  dwelling,"  slowly  said  Robin,  "is  in  this  very  wood,  and 
men  know  me  as  Robin  Hood." 

[i9Sl 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Then,  with  his  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  Sir  Guy  roared 
out:  "Thou  art  he  whom  I  have  long  sought." 

"Well,"  quoth  Robin,  "I  am  ready,  and  care  naught  for  thee. 
Prepare  thyself,  for  with  my  good  broadsword  will  I  cut  short 
thy  evil  day." 

Robin  drew  his  sword,  and  Sir  Guy  his,  at  the  same  time 
unsheathing  his  long,  pointed  Irish  dagger,  which  he  held  in  his 
left  hand.  Facing  each  other  with  keen  eyes,  they  watched  their 
chance.  Both  knew  the  combat  was  to  be  long  and  fierce;  both 
were  equally  determined  to  win.  Each  found  the  other  a  worthy 
foe,  for  in  skill  and  hardihood  they  were  well  matched.  No  one 
was  by  to  see  fair  play,  save  the  little  birds,  and  they  were  soon 
scared  away  by  the  noise  of  the  clashing  swords  and  the  deep, 
angry  oaths  of  the  fell  Sir  Guy,  as  he  fiercely  lunged,  parried,  and 
feinted.  Robin  was  well  aware  of  the  peril  in  which  he  stood. 
Sir  Guy  was  fighting  for  a  great  prize.  The  victor  would  live,  the 
vanquished  would  surely  die.  It  was  a  grim  battle  to  the  death. 

Two  hours  passed.  Weary,  yet  still  fighting,  the  face  of  Sir 
Guy  changed  from  a  sickly  yellow  to  a  livid  blue;  then,  as  the 
fight  went  on,  his  blood  grew  hotter  and  flowed  to  his  face,  dark- 
ening the  color  to  a  deep  purple.  His  long  black  locks  were 
clotted  and  damp  with  sweat,  and  from  time  to  time,  at  each 
furious  lunge,  he  swore  dreadful  oaths  because  he  could  not 
budge  his  pale-faced,  dogged  foeman.  Never  before  in  all  his 
life  did  Robin  fight  so  desperately;  never  before  was  he  so  near 
death — and  he  knew  it.  Early  in  the  fight  a  faintness  fell  upon 
him;  but  he  grimly  set  his  teeth,  and  new  strength  came.  His 
strokes,  though  they  dealt  no  wounds,  began  to  tell  upon  Sir 
Guy,  robed  as  he  was  in  a  hot  skin.  For  all  his  wickedness, 
Sir  Guy  was  a  bold  warrior,  as  many  had  found  to  their  cost, 
and  he  was  too  proud  to  ask  for  a  moment's  time  to  rest.  Robin 
watched  him  every  second,  fighting  carefully  for  fear  of  some 
false,  dishonorable  stroke,  for  he  knew  that  he  had  to  do  with 
a  man  who  would  not  scruple  to  kill  him  by  foul  means. 

All  of  a  sudden  Robin  slipped  on  a  root,  falling  on  one  knee. 
Sir  Guy  sprang  forward  nimbly  and  struck  him  in  the  left  side 

[196] 


ROBIN  DROVE  HIS  BLADE  THROUGH  SIR  GUY'S  BODY 


> 


ROBIN    HOOD 

— a  base  and  cowardly  deed,  for  a  true  knight  would  have  low- 
ered his  blade  till  his  foe  got  upon  his  feet. 

"By  our  dear  Lady,"  cried  Robin,  "  'tis  not  a  good  man's 
destiny  to  die  before  his  day.  Take  that,  thou  villainous 
cheat!"  So  saying,  he  leaped  up  and  straightway,  with  a  sudden 
stroke,  drove  his  blade  right  through  Sir  Guy's  body.  The  knight 
fell  backward,  his  sword  dropped  from  his  uplifted  arm,  and  he 
slowly  sank  lifeless  to  the  sward. 

"There  is  now  an  end  to  one  who  hath  been  a  traitor  all  his 
life,"  quoth  Robin,  as  he  leaned  panting  upon  his  sword.  "Lie 
there,  Sir  Guy!  If  thou  hadst  fought  as  befitted  a  knight,  may- 
hap thou  wouldst  now  be  alive,  and  I  lying  there  in  thy  stead. 
But  now  thy  knavishness  hath  undone  thee,  and  truly  the 
world  is  well  rid  of  thee." 

Robin's  wound  was  but  a  scratch,  for  he  had  partly  turned  the 
blow.  When  he  had  bound  it  up  and  rested  a  little,  he  doffed 
his  coat  of  Lincoln  green,  and  clad  himself  from  top  to  toe  in 
the  horse-hide,  saying,  "Now  I  will  see  how  my  men  have  fared 
and  what  hath  befallen  Little  John."  Anon  he  put  Sir  Guy's 
horn  to  his  lips  and  blew  so  loud  a  blast  that  the  Sheriff  heard 
it  as  he  stood  upon  a  little  hill  waiting  for  the  welcome  sound. 

"Hearken,"  quoth  the  Sheriff,  "for  I  hear  good  tidings. 
Yonder  I  hear  Sir  Guy  blowing  his  horn,  as  he  said  he  would  do 
when  he  had  slain  Robin  Hood.  Ay,  by  the  mass,  yonder  comes 
the  good  knight,  clad  in  his  horse-hide  coat.  Come  hither,  come 
hither  to  me,  thou  good  Sir  Guy.  Ask  whatever  thou  wilt  of  me ! " 

"Oh,  I  will  have  none  of  thy  gold,"  said  Robin,  "nor  do  I 
crave  any  reward  save  only  this:  now  that  I  have  slain  the 
master,  let  me  go  and  strike  down  the  knavish  servant  at  yonder 
tree.  None  other  fee  will  I  have." 

"Thou  art  a  madman,"  said  the  Sheriff,  "and  art  truly  un- 
worthy of  a  knight's  fee."  But  he  pressed  him  no  further, 
thinking  so  large  a  sum  were  as  well  in  his  own  pocket.  So  he 
granted  Robin's  request,  though  in  his  heart  he  longed  to  carry 
Little  John  back  to  Nottingham  alive,  as  his  own  prisoner. 

When  Little  John  heard  his  master's  voice  he  knew  his  free- 


ROBIN    HOOD 

dom  was  close  at  hand  through  some  good  hap,  and  now  he  saw 
Robin  coming  as  fast  as  he  could  hie  to  cut  his  bonds.  The 
Sheriff  and  his  men  followed  close  upon  Robin's  heels  to  witness 
the  end  of  Little  John. 

"Stand  aback,  stand  aback,"  shouted  Robin.  "Why  do  ye 
draw  so  near?  It  is  not  the  custom  in  my  country  for  more  than 
one  to  hear  a  man's  last  confession.  Put  some  space  between  us, 
while  I  do  this  deed." 

So  the  men  backed  away;  and  Robin,  pulling  forth  the  Irish 
knife,  quickly  loosed  the  bonds  that  held  Little  John's  hands 
and  feet.  Then,  giving  him  Sir  Guy's  bow  and  arrows,  he  bade 
him  look  to  himself.  Both  turned  about  at  the  same  instant 
with  bows  ready  bent;  and  when  the  Sheriff  saw  that  his  prisoner 
was  free,  he  knew  that  Robin  Hood  had  again  foiled  his  plans. 
The  shock  was  so  great  that  he  had  no  heart  to  stand  and  brave 
it  out,  but  turned  aside  and  made  him  ready  in  all  haste  to  ride 
toward  his  home  in  Nottingham  town.  He  fled  full  fast,  and 
all  his  company  did  likewise,  for  they  knew  the  deadly  aim  of 
those  two  archers  who  had  so  just  a  cause  for  anger  against  them. 
But  before  the  Sheriff  could  ride  out  of  sight  Little  John  shot 
an  arrow  which  wounded  him  in  the  shoulder.  Thus  he  rode  into 
Nottingham  town  with  the  broad  arrow  sticking  from  his  back. 

Then  it  was  that  Little  John  turned  to  Robin,  saying:  "My 
dear,  good  master,  I  do  freely  ask  thy  pardon,  and  shouldst 
thou  grant  it  me  I  make  a  vow  nevermore  to  cross  thy  will  or 
leave  thee  again  in  the  lurch." 

"Nay,  nay,  my  trusty  John,  my  best  of  true  hearts,  'tis  I 
should  ask  pardon  of  thee,  for  I  was  out  of  temper  and  hasty 
of  speech,  so  that  I  spake  unkindly." 

Thereupon  they  embraced  and  kissed  each  other  full  fondly 
on  either  cheek  and  wept.  Then  through  the  forest  these  two 
firm  friends  of  over  a  quarter  of  a  century  strode  together,  in 
quiet  happiness,  back  home  to  their  trysting-place,  where  they 
found  most  of  their  comrades  safe  and  happy.  So  the  night  was 
spent  in  feasting  and  tales  of  deeds  nobly  done  on  that  famous 
day  when  Sir  Guy  of  Gisbourne  was  slain. 


XVIII 

ROBIN  RESCUES  WILL  STUTELY 

NjfN  the  following  morning  the  outlaws  began 
y  to  be  anxious  because  one  of  their  comrades 
;  had  not  yet  joined  them.  This  was  Will 
;  Stutely — a  stout  yeoman,  and  a  cousin  of 
Robin's,  whom  he  loved  well.  Those  who  saw 
him  last,  as  they  fought  side  by  side  against 
the  Sheriff's  men,  said  that  he  was  running 
with  all  speed,  followed  by  a  dozen  of  his  enemies.  But  they 
thought  that  Will  would  easily  escape,  because  of  his  well-known 
fleetness  of  foot  and  his  thorough  knowledge  of  the  forest  paths. 
Quoth  Robin: 

"My  dear  cousin  I  must  not  lose.     Therefore  without  more 
ado  we  will  go  to  search  for  him." 

At  that  very  moment  they  saw  a  town  spy  come  running  up 
with  great  speed. 

"Tidings,   brave   Robin   Hood,"  cried   he,   "ill  tidings  do  I 
bring  of  Will  Stutely." 

"What  are  thy  tidings,  trusty  spy  ? "  said  Robin  Hood.    "Speak, 
I  beseech  thee." 

"Thy  cousin  Will   was    surprised   by   three  of  the   Sheriff's 
men,  and  now  he  lies  in  the  dungeon  of  Nottingham  Castle, 

[201] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

whence  he  will  be  taken  belike  to-morrow,  to  be  hanged  from  a 
cart  gibbet  in  the  public  square,  outside  the  walls.  But  before 
they  could  place  him  in  the  dungeon  he  did  slay  two  of  those 
that  set  upon  him,  which  made  the  Sheriff  so  angry  that  he  fain 
would  hurry  him  to  the  gallows." 

When  Robin  heard  this  dismal  news  he  was  sorely  grieved, 
and  he  swore  a  great  oath  that  Will  Stutely  should  be  rescued, 
though  many  a  gallant  yeoman  should  die  for  his  sake. 

Straightway  they  made  ready  to  go  and  storm  the  castle  in 
Nottingham.  When  the  whole  band  stood  all  in  a  row,  dressed 
in  Lincoln  green,  with  stout  yew  bows  at  their  backs  and  broad- 
swords hanging  at  their  sides,  they  made  a  gallant  show.  As 
for  Robin,  he  was  clad  from  top  to  toe  in  scarlet.  No  braver 
sight  could  be  seen  in  all  the  world  on  this  bright,  early  morning, 
as  they  marched  along  the  well-known  paths,  firmly  resolved  to 
bring  Will  Stutely  back  home,  or  die  in  the  attempt.  At  the 
skirts  of  the  forest  the  people  saw  them  striding  along  fully 
armed,  with  set  faces,  and  they  knew  there  would  be  lively 
doings  that  day  in  Nottingham  town.  Many  a  cheer  went  up 
from  yeoman  throats,  for  all  knew  of  Will  Stutely's  capture. 
Such  news  sped  like  wildfire  o'er  the  town. 

When  the  band  drew  near  the  castle,  Robin  Hood  bade  them 
stand.  "I  hold  it  good,"  said  he,  "that  we  stay  here  in  ambush, 
and  send  forth  one  to  find  out  at  what  time  the  hanging  is  to  be. 
Do  thou,  good  Friar  Tuck,  go  forth  to  yonder  palmer  that 
stands  beside  the  castle  wall.  Some  news  he  may  tell  to  thee." 

With  that,  stepped  forth  bold  Friar  Tuck,  and  thus  spake 
to  the  old  man: 

"I  pray  thee,  aged  palmer,  tell  me,  if  thou  dost  know,  when 
Will  Stutely  must  die — he  that  is  of  bold  Robin  Hood's  men 
and  now  lies  in  the  dungeon." 

"Alack  the  day!"  said  the  palmer,  "Will  Stutely  must  be 
hanged  this  day  upon  the  gallows.  O  that  his  noble  master 
did  know!  He  would  surely  send  some  of  his  bold  outlaws  to 
succor  the  young  man,  and  take  him  away  from  so  vile  a  death." 

"Ay,  that  is  true,"  quoth  Friar  Tuck,  "most  truly  would  they 

[202] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

soon  set  him  free  if  they  were  near  this  place.  But  fare  thee 
well,  thou  good  old  man,  farewell  and  many  thanks  for  thy 
news.  If  Will  Stutely  is  hanged  this  day,  be  sure  his  death  will 
be  bitterly  revenged;  for  I  must  tell  thee  that  Robin  Hood  is 
aware  of  the  Sheriff's  order." 

The  Friar  was  no  sooner  gone  away  from  the  palmer  than  the 
great  castle  gates  were  opened  wide,  and  there  Will  Stutely 
stood,  bound  in  a  cart  drawn  by  a  black  horse,  guarded  on 
every  side.  The  rope  dangled  above  his  head,  and  the  sturdy 
hangman  sat  beside  the  captive.  As  the  cart  moved  outside 
the  castle  gate  Will  looked  about  to  see  if  no  help  were  nigh. 
Then  he  spake  boldly  to  the  Sheriff: 

"Now  I  see  that  I  needs  must  die,  yet  grant  me  one  boon,  for 
my  noble  master  never  had  a  man  that  was  hanged  upon  a  tree. 
Give  me  a  sword  in  my  hand,  I  pray,  and  unbind  my  thongs, 
that  I  may  die  bravely  fighting  either  with  thee  or  thy  men. 
I  will  fight  till  I  lie  dead  on  the  ground,  or,  if  ye  are  such  cowards 
that  ye  dare  not  meet  me  in  fair  fight,  let  me  kill  myself." 

But  the  Sheriff  was  deaf  to  his  pleadings,  for  he  had  sworn 
the  outlaw  should  be  hanged,  and  not  killed  as  a  brave  man. 

"Do  thou,  Sheriff,  but  unbind  my  hands,  I  implore,"  again 
cried  Will.  "I  ask  not  now  to  fight,  but  only  to  slay  myself, 
that  I  may  not  disgrace  my  comrades." 

"Oh,  no,  not  so,"  the  Sheriff  said.  "Thou  shalt  surely  die  on 
the  gallows  like  a  dog  hung  up  by  the  neck,  and  so  shall  thy 
master,  too,  if  ever  he  comes  into  my  power." 

Then  cried  Will  scornfully:  "Thou  dastardly  villain!  Thou 
faint-hearted  peasant  slave!  If  ever  my  master  should  cross 
thy  path  after  this  foul  deed  he  will  serve  thee  as  thou  servest 
me.  Mark  that,  Sheriff,  thou  shalt  yet  hang  from  a  tree." 
With  yet  bolder  words  he  went  on:  "My  noble  master  scorneth 
such  a  vile  thing  as  thou  and  all  thy  cowardly  crew,  who  are 
too  faint-hearted  to  subdue  a  man  so  brave.  Do  your  worst; 
I  defy  such  wretches,  and  will  show  you  how  a  brave  man  can 
meet  death,  however  it  come." 

To  all  this  the  Sheriff  made  no  answer.  To  say  sooth,  he  was 
[205] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

thinking  deeply  if  this  bold  young  man's  word  might  perchance 
come  true. 

Then  all  was  quiet  as  they  drove  along  to  the  gallows,  and 
Will  closed  his  eyes  to  murmur  to  himself  a  silent  prayer.  When 
he  again  looked  about  him  he  saw  the  long  form  of  Little  John 
leap  forward  out  of  some  bushes  and  quickly  run  up  to  him, 
crying: 

"I  pray  thee,  Will,  before  thou  diest,  bid  us  farewell  and  take 
leave  of  all  thy  good  friends."  Then,  turning  to  the  soldiers  on 
guard,  quoth  John:  "I  must  needs  borrow  this  young  man  for  a 
little.  How  say  you,  good  Sheriff?" 

"Now,  as  I  live,"  the  Sheriff  bawled  out,  in  great  anger,  "that 
long-legged  varlet  must  be  some  sturdy  rebel  to  act  thus  boldly 
to  my  face  in  defiance  of  the  law.  Seize  him,  guards,  and  see  that 
ye  hold  him  fast." 

But  Little  John  leaped  nimbly  into  the  cart  and  hastily  cut 
Will  Stutely's  bonds.  Then  in  a  trice  he  snatched  a  sword  from 
one  of  the  Sheriff's  men,  saying,  "Here,  Will,  take  thou  this 
good  blade.  Use  it  as  well  as  thou  mayst.  Aid  will  come  to 
thee  straightway."  Both  turned  back  to  back,  bidding  a  bold 
defiance  to  all,  and  shouted  loudly,  "Robin  Hood  and  his  merry 
men  have  come  to  the  rescue." 

Straightway  Robin  and  all  his  brave  archers  appeared,  with 
shafts  ready  nocked  to  let  fly  at  the  word  of  command.  Robin 
stood  with  his  long  arrow  pointed  straight  at  the  breast  of  the 
Sheriff,  who  saw  with  dismay  that  he  was  once  more  befooled 
and  that  his  life  was  not  worth  a  straw.  With  trembling  voice 
he  cried  to  his  men: 

"Make  haste,  let  us  begone,  for  our  lives  are  in  danger." 
Then  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  which  ran  with  might  and  main 
back  to  town.  When  they  saw  their  master  flee,  his  doughty 
men  soon  followed  in  his  path. 

"Oh,  stay,  oh,  stay  awhile!"  cried  Will  Stutely.  "Run  not 
so  fast  away,  but  take  leave  of  us  ere  you  go.  Here  is  Robin 
Hood  now,  that  you  were  so  fain  to  hang."  Then,  turning  to 
Robin  and  his  men,  he  said:  "Ah,  my  dear  comrades,  I  little 

[206] 


LITTLE  JOHN  HASTILY  CUT  WILL  STUTELY'S  BONDS 


ROBIN    HOOD 

thought  as  I  stood  in  that  cart  to  have  seen  the  face  of  my  dear 
master  and  Little  John  again,  because  I  knew  not  how  to  send 
tidings  of  my  ill  luck." 

Thus  it  was  that  Will  Stutely  was  set  free  without  the  shedding 
of  a  single  drop  of  blood  or  the  shooting  of  a  single  arrow. 

Their  mission  being  fulfilled,  they  all  turned  to  march  quietly 
back  to  the  forest,  having  no  will  for  revenge  or  pillage.  As 
for  Will,  he  was  little  the  worse  for  his  adventure,  and  the  band 
were  well  satisfied  to  get  him  back  so  easily  and  without  scathe. 
Full  joyously  they  feasted,  that  night,  under  the  great  oak, 
while  the  Sheriff  was  filled  with  bitter  shame  when  he  found 
himself  seated  at  his  table  with  the  many  guests  he  had  bidden 
to  witness  the  hanging  of  the  outlaw. 

14 


XIX 

ROBIN    AND    SIR    RICHARD    O*    THE    LEA 

JO  hearty  bodies  and  active  minds  feasting  and 
merriment  are  but  passing  pleasures.  A  few 
days  after  Will  Stutely  was  rescued  Robin's 
merry  men  found  the  time  hanging  heavily 
upon  their  hands.  The  larder  was  well  filled, 
and  they  pined  for  something  to  do.  As  for 
Robin,  his  last  fierce  combat  with  Sir  Guy 
lad  given  him  his  fill  of  fighting;  and,  moreover,  he  knew  that  to 
follow  up  his  victory  over  the  Sheriff  past  a  certain  point  would 
only  bring  disaster.  If  the  Sheriff  let  him  be,  he  would  do  the 
same  by  the  Sheriff.  He  had  no  wish  to  be  driven  from  a  place 
made  comfortable  after  so  many  years  of  labor,  and  he  was  well 
aware  that  a  trained  band  of  brave  soldiers  under  a  capable 
leader  could  bring  ruin  to  his  forest  kingdom.  So  he  wisely 
let  well  alone  and  made  up  his  mind  to  enjoy  the  good  thinf 
he  had. 

One  fine  May  day  as  he  stood  leaning  against  a  tree,  Little 
John,  Will  Scarlet,  and  Friar  Tuck  came  and  stood  beside  him. 
It  was  at  the  noon-hour,  and  Little  John  said  to  him: 
"Master,  let  us  now  go  to  dine." 
Then  spake  good  Robin.     "To  eat  I  have  no  will,  till  I  have 

[2TOl 


ROBIN    HOOD 

some  stranger-guest  to  dine  with  me.  Perchance  if  thou  goest 
to  the  highway,  thou  mayst  bring  in  some  fat  bishop,  abbot, 
or  knight  dwelling  hereabouts  who  would  be  willing  to  pay 
for  his  feast." 

Quoth  Little  John:  "Master,  before  we  go  to  search  for  a 
guest,  tell  unto  us  thy  desire.  Whom  shall  we  take?  Whom  shall 
we  leave,  and  where  shall  we  abide?  Whom  shall  we  beat  and 
bind,  and  whom  let  go  without  hurt?" 

"We  have  no  foes,"  quoth  Robin,  "that  do  us  hurt.  Look  to 
it  ye  do  no  harm  to  any  husbandman  that  tilleth  with  his  plow, 
for  he  works  to  our  good  and  the  weal  of  merry  England.  Like- 
wise, harm  not  good  yeomen  or  craftsmen,  for  they,  too,  must 
work  in  peace  for  the  general  good.  Marry,  an  you  meet  by  the 
way  any  knight  or  squire  that  would  be  good  fellows,  urge  them 
to  be  with  me  and  share  our  cheer.  But  those  proud  and  lofty 
bishops  and  archbishops  that  by  craft  and  guile  extort  their 
ill-gotten  gains  from  the  thrifty  poor,  beat  them  and  bind  them 
and  bring  them  hither,  for  they  are  ever  ready  to  eat  and  take 
their  fill  of  good  things.  And  above  all,  bear  in  mind  the  High 
Sheriff  of  Nottingham,  who  has  tasted  our  good  cheer  so  oft. 
Let  him  know  that  he  is  still  welcome." 

"We  shall  bear  in  mind  thy  commands,  good  master,"  said 
Little  John,  "and  the  lesson  take  to  heart." 

"It  is  a  fair  day,"  quoth  Robin.  "God  send  us  a  guest,  that 
we  may  together  enjoy  a  merry  feast!  Take  thy  good  bow  in 
hand.  Let  Will  Scarlet  and  our  holy  friar  wend  with  thee  as 
comrades.  Then  walk  up  Ermine  Street,  there  to  wait  for 
some  willing  guest  that  by  chance  may  pass  that  way.  Be  he 
earl  or  baron,  abbot  or  knight,  bring  him  to  lodge  with  me." 

So  away  strode  the  three  companions  through  the  forest  glade, 
and  in  due  time  they  got  upon  the  broad  highway  of  Ermine 
Street,  one  of  the  five  great  roads  of  England.  They  looked 
eastward  and  westward,  but  nobody  of  the  sort  they  awaited 
chanced  to  pass  by.  Yet  after  a  little  while,  on  looking  up  a 
small  side  lane,  they  beheld  a  knight  riding  slowly  toward  them. 
Stepping  forth  to  meet  him,  they  saw  that  he  seemed  sad  and 


ROBIN    HOOD 

dreary,  without  any  pride  in  himself.  One  foot  was  in  a  stirrup, 
the  other  hung  outside.  His  hood  had  fallen  awry,  and  his 
clothes  were  simple  and  poor.  Indeed,  a  more  doleful-seeming 
knight  they  had  never  looked  upon.  Stepping  forward,  Little 
John  bent  his  knee,  saying: 

"Welcome  to  thee,  gentle  knight.  Welcome  be  thou  to  our 
greenwood.  My  master  hath  bidden  thee  to  a  merry  feast, 
courteous  sir.  We  three  are  sent  to  bring  thee  to  it." 

"Who  is  your  master?"  said  the  knight. 

Quoth  John,  "He  is  bold  Robin  Hood." 

"He  is  a  good  yeoman,"  replied  the  knight.  "And  I  hear 
naught  but  good  of  him.  Therefore  I  do  grant  your  request, 
and  with  you,  my  brethren,  will  wend,  though  my  purpose  was 
to  have  dined  this  day  at  Ely  the  or  Doncaster."  The  gentle 
knight  then  rode  along  with  the  outlaws;  and,  as  they  wended 
their  way,  ever  and  anon  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  Much 
they  marveled  what  it  could  be  that  made  the  knight  so  un- 
happy. Soon  they  reached  the  great  oak,  where  Robin  stood 
ready  to  receive  them.  Raising  his  cap,  he  bent  his  knee,  saying: 
"Welcome,  Sir  Knight,  thou  art  to  me.  I  have  been  fasting, 
gentle  sir,  for  three  hours  till  thou  shouldst  come  to  us." 

Then,  with  words  fair  and  free,  the  gentle  knight  made  answer: 

"God  save  thee,  Robin  Hood,  and  all  thy  brave  companions." 

"Grammercy,  Sir  Knight.  Let  us  together  go  to  wash,  for 
the  feast  is  even  now  spread." 

The  sad  knight  was  placed  betwixt  Robin  and  John,  and  he 
marveled  at  the  good  things  laid  before  him.  Bread  and  wine 
there  were  in  plenty — the  choicest  cuts  of  venison,  swans,  pheas- 
ants, and  capons — indeed,  no  game  or  bird  good  for  eating  was 
lacking  at  the  board.  "Eat  heartily,  sir  knight,"  quoth  Robin, 
"for  our  store  is  full." 

"Grammercy,  sir,"  said  the  knight.  "Such  a  dinner  I  have 
not  seen  these  many  weeks,  and  should  I  come  again  to  these 
parts,  I  hope  to  make  a  feast  as  fine  for  thee." 

"In  truth,"  said  Robin,  "I  was  never  so  greedy  as  to  crave 
a  return  for  my  entertainment.  I  know  it  is  not  the  custom 

[212] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

for  a  yeoman  to  provide  for  a  knight,  but  whether  thou  payest 
or  not  before  thou  dost  go  hence,  I  care  not." 

"I  have  not  now  the  means  to  pay  thee,  good  Robin,  for  I 
have  naught  in  my  purse — to  my  very  shame  be  it  said.  Could 
I  but  do  so,  I  would  gladly  pay  for  thy  hearty  fare,  but  of  a 
truth  there  is  naught  in  my  purse  save  a  scurvy  ten  shillings — 
an  unworthy  sum  to  offer  thee." 

"If  that  be  the  truth,  an  thou  hast  no  more,"  said  Robin, 
"I  will  not  take  a  penny  of  it.  Go  forth  now,  Little  John,  and 
tell  me  the  truth.  If  there  be  no  more  than  ten  shillings  in 
the  knight's  purse,  not  one  penny  will  I  touch." 

Then  Little  John  went  and  took  the  purse  that  hung  from 
the  saddle  of  the  knight's  horse,  and,  laying  his  mantle  on  the 
ground,  shook  out  the  coins  upon  it.  Letting  the  money  lie  there, 
he  went  back  to  his  master,  saying: 

"The  knight  hath  spoken  the  truth.  There  were  but  ten 
shillings  in  the  purse." 

"Fill  up  a  cup  of  the  best  wine,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  the 
knight  shall  drink  to  better  times!  No  marvel  his  raiment  is 
so  poor,  since  his  purse  is  so  thin."  For  in  sooth  he  was  filled 
with  pity  to  see  a  knight  without  means  to  support  his  high 
station.  "Tell  me  one  word,"  he  said  to  the  knight.  "I  trow 
thou  wert  made  a  knight  perforce,  without  money  at  hand 
to  uphold  it,  or,  peradventure,  thou  hast  lost  thy  goods  and 
lands  by  sorry  husbandry,  living  at  strife  with  thy  neigh- 
bors." 

"By  our  Good  Lady,"  said  the  knight,  "none  of  these  things 
is  true,  for  my  ancestors  have  been  knights  more  than  a  hundred 
years,  with  lands  and  castles  of  their  own,  bringing  in  good  rev- 
enue. But  sometimes,  Robin,  it  may  befall  a  man  to  have 
trouble,  and  even  disgrace;  yet  God,  in  His  good  time,  doth 
amend  his  state.  I  am  known  as  Sir  Richard  o'  the  Lea,  and, 
as  my  neighbors  will  tell  thee,  till  two  or  three  years  agone  I 
had  four  hundred  pounds  of  good  money  to  spend  as  I  would. 
But  now  I  have,  I  fear,  neither  lands  nor  goods.  All  is  lost  to 
me  save  my  wife  and  children.  To  this  sad  state  have  I  been 

[215] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

brought/not  by  mine  own  doings,  but  in  such  a  way  that  I  could 
not  help  it." 

"In  what  manner  hast  thou  lost  thy  riches  and  lands?"  asked 
Robin. 

With  tears  in  his  eyes,  the  knight  replied:  "For  my  great 
folly — so  men  say — and  for  the  great  love  I  bear  to  my  dear 
son,  that  should  have  been  my  heir.  When  he  was  twenty  years 
old  he  was  ever  eager  to  joust  in  the  tournaments,  for  he  was 
brave  and  bold;  and  in  a  quarrel  he  chanced  to  slay  a  knight 
of  Lancashire.  Thus,  to  save  him  in  his  rights,  I  was  fain  to 
sell  all  my  goods  and  chattels,  and  pledge  my  lands  until  a 
certain  day  to  the  rich  Prior  of  Saint  Mary's  Abbey." 

"What  is  the  amount  to  which  thou  art  bound?"  said  Robin. 
"Come,  tell  me  the  exact  sum." 

"The  sum  is  a  large  one — four  hundred  pounds,  to  a  shilling." 

"And  now,  having  leased  thy  lands,"  said  Robin,  "what  shall 
befall  thee?  What  canst  thou  do  now?" 

"All  I  can  do,"  replied  Sir  Richard,  "is  to  place  my  children 
and  dear  wife  in  the  care  of  some  good  abbess  and  go  to  the  wars 
over  the  salt  sea,  perchance  to  mend  my  sad  state.  So  now, 
fare  thee  well,  good  friend,  and  have  good  day."  Bitter  tears 
trickled  down  from  his  eyes,  and  he  could  speak  no  more  for  a 
space.  "One  parting  word,  my  merry  and  kind  friends,"  he 
said,  at  last:  "perchance  a  time  may  come  when  I  shall  have 
money  to  pay." 

"Nay,  tarry  awhile,"  quoth  Robin.  "Where  be  thy  friends? 
Surely  a  worthy  knight  in  distress  can  borrow  or  get  help  for  a 
brother's  love." 

"Brave  outlaw,  knights  are  not  all  noble.  Now  they  scarce 
seem  to  know  me,  though  while  I  was  rich  at  home  they  would 
boast  loudly  enough  of  their  great  love  to  me.  They  shun  me, 
taking  no  more  heed  of  my  great  dole  than  if  I  were  a  stranger." 

For  very  pity,  then,  wept  all  the  outlaws.  Robin  thought  of 
his  own  early  life — how  his  uncle  had  cheated  him — and  he 
asked  himself,  Why  should  I  not  help  this  very  worthy  knight? 
"Be  of  good  cheer,  brave  knight,"  he  said,  "and  fill  up  another 

[216] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

cup  of  the  good  wine.  Tell  me,  hast  thou  no  friend  who  will 
go  surety  should  I  lend  thee  the  sum  of  which  thou  standest 
in  such  sore  need?" 

"Nay,  by  Him  that  made  me  and  shaped  the  sun  and  moon! 
He  is  the  only  friend  to  whom  I  can  look  for  help — He  and  our 
Lady  Dear,  who  hath  never  failed  me  before." 

"By  my  faith,"  said  Robin,  "if  I  searched  all  England  through, 
there  is  no  better  sponsor,  and  She  shall  stand  surety  for  thee. 
Go  forth  now,  Little  John,  to  my  treasury  and  count  out  four 
hundred  pounds,  and  look  to  it  thou  dost  count  a-right,  no  more 
nor  less.  Then  bring  it  to  us  here." 

Straightway  went  Little  John,  blithe  of  heart,  to  the  treasury; 
and  Will  Scarlet  followed  on,  for  both  were  eager  to  see  the 
sad  knight  made  happy  again.  So  they  counted  out  the  money, 
but  Little  John  was  over-generous,  adding  a  little  extra. 

Then  said  Will,  "Is  it  counted  a-right?" 

"What  ails  thee,  Will?"  said  John.  "Are  we  not  giving  aid 
to  help  a  good  and  true  knight  who  hath  fallen  upon  sad  times  ? 
He  will  repay  to  our  great  credit.  We  have  enough  and  to  spare." 
Even  so,  he  was  not  yet  contented,  for  when  he  delivered  the 
gold,  he  said:  "Master,  ye  must  give  the  knight  a  livery  to  lap 
up  his  body,  for  his  raiment  is  very  thin  and  worn.  Ye  have 
scarlet  and  green  stuffs,  and  many  rich  garments.  There  is 
no  merchant  in  merry  England,  I  dare  say,  that  hath  so  much." 

"Give  him,  then,"  quoth  Robin,  "three  yards  of  every  color, 
and  see  that  he  getteth  full  measure." 

John  took  good  care  of  that,  for  he  used  no  other  measure 
than  his  long-bow,  and  with  every  yard  he  put  in  an  extra  piece 
for  good  luck. 

"Thou  wouldst  ruin  thy  master  if  he  were  a  draper,"  said 
Will,  who  stood  by  and  laughed.  "By  my  troth,  John,  we  might 
as  well  give  the  knight  good  measure.  It  hath  cost  us  little  to 
get." 

When  the  cloth  had  been  brought  and  set  before  Robin  and 
Sir  Richard,  Little  John  said: 

"Thou  must  give  the  knight  a  horse  to  carry  home  all  these 
[217! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

goods.    Now  that  we  have  begun  to   help   him,  let   us  do  it 
well." 

"Ay,  marry,  that  we  will.  So  bring  the  gray  courser  and  put 
on  a  new  saddle.  I  can  see,  too,  that  the  knight  needeth  a  pair 
of  boots.  But  in  faith,  dear  John,  since  thou  hast  been  so  gen- 
erous with  our  things,  what  wilt  thou  thyself  give  the  good 
knight?" 

t    "I  shall  give  him,  sir,"  quoth  John,  "a  pair  of  gilt  spurs,  with  a 
prayer  that  God  may  bring  him  soon  out  of  his  unhappy  state." 

Then  Sir  Richard  wore  a  cheerful  smile,  seeing  how  these 
noble  outlaws  did  good  deeds  to  him,  and  he  said  to  Robin: 

"My  loving  and  kind  sir,  when  shall  I  return  to  pay  this 
great  debt  I  owe  thee?" 

"Let  it  be  this  day  twelvemonth,  an  it  please  thee,  Sir  Knight, 
under  this  great  oak  tree." 

So  the  knight  made  ready  to  depart,  a  great  load  having 
fallen  from  him  since  he  entered  the  outlaws'  glade.  But  Robin 
bade  him  tarry,  saying: 

"It  would  be  a  great  shame  for  a  brave  knight  to  ride  alone, 
without  either  squire,  yeoman,  or  page  by  his  side.  In  case 
of  need  to  guard  the  money,  I  shall  lend  thee  Little  John  to  serve 
as  yeoman  for  a  while." 

At  last  the  knight  started  on  his  way,  with  Little  John  by  his 
side,  and  as  he  looked  back  to  the  great  oak  he  waved  his 
hand  and  blessed  Robin  Hood  for  his  great  kindness.  Never 
before  had  he,  in  any  company,  met  with  such  brotherly  love, 
and  all  had  been  done  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  hurt  his  pride. 
After  he  had  ridden  some  distance  the  now  happy  knight  spake 
to  John,  saying: 

"To-morrow  I  must  perforce  go  to  the  Prior  of  Saint  Mary's 
Abbey  in  York  town,  to  pay  this  four  hundred  pounds.  If  I 
be  not  there  by  to-morrow  even,  all  my  lands  are  lost  to  me  for- 
ever. The  Prior,  I  trow,  would  fain  seize  this  land  from  me, 
for  I  know  him  to  be  a  hard,  grasping  churchman." 

"Have  no  fear,  Sir  Knight,"  quoth  Little  John.  "I  warrant 
we  shall  be  there  in  good  time.  Yet  we  will  hasten  our  pace  and 

[218] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

push  along  the  Trent  valley  due  north.  We  can  pass  by  Don- 
caster  before  nightfall,  then  with  a  good  rest  and  early  start 
we  shall  be  in  York  by  afternoon." 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  the  Prior  of  Saint  Mary's 
Abbey  was  seated  at  his  ease  near  a  table  upon  which  were 
spread  luscious  fruits,  cakes,  and  wines.  With  him  was  a  man 
of  the  law,  whom  he  had  summoned  to  draw  up  legal  papers 
in  case  the  knight  failed  to  appear,  also  the  Sheriff  to  represent 
the  county  where  the  land  in  question  lay.  Quoth  the  Prior  to 
his  abbot,  as  he  sipped  his  wine: 

"This  day,  twelvemonth  agone,  there  came  a  knight  to 
borrow  four  hundred  pounds  upon  all  his  free  lands.  If  he 
come  not  soon,  he  shall  forfeit  all,  and  the  lands  shall  fall  to 
Holy  Church." 

"It  is  full  early,"  said  the  abbot.  "The  day  is  not  yet  far 
gone.  Be  patient  with  him  a  little  while.  I  had  as  lief  pay  a 
hundred  pounds  to  have  you  tarry  till  even.  The  knight  per- 
chance hath  been  far  beyond  the  sea,  and  when  in  England  once 
more,  things  will  go  better  with  him.  He  may  have  suffered 
both  hunger  and  cold.  Great  pity  'twere  to  take  his  land,  at 
least  before  his  time  is  ended.  God-a-mercy,  have  you  no 
conscience,  Prior  Vincent,  to  do  the  knight  such  great  harm?" 

The  Prior's  face  turned  deep  red  with  anger  as  he  replied, 
"Thou  hast  ever  some  reason  to  urge  against  the  gaining  of 
more  riches  for  the  abbey,  and  in  the  guise  of  charity  dost 
delight  to  cross  me.'* 

The  man  of  law  bade  them  have  patience,  at  least  till  the  full 
time  was  past;  for,  said  he,  "The  knight  may  be  dead  or  hanged, 
or  drowned;  then  his  lands  and  rents  will  justly  fall  to  you." 

While  they  were  talking  and  waiting  they  heard  a  sound  of 
horses'  hoofs  in  the  courtyard,  and  through  the  half-open 
door  they  saw  the  knight.  "  Tis  he,"  said  the  Prior,  with  a 
sad  face,  "but  mayhap  he  hath  not  the  money."  Then  the 
knight  dismounted,  and,  still  wearing  his  poor  mantle,  to  make 
the  Prior  think  he  had  no  money,  drew  nigh  to  the  gate. 

"Welcome,  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  porter  at  the  door.    "My 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Lord  Prior,  with  his  men,  are  waiting  to  greet  thee."  Then  the 
porter  swore  a  great  oath  that  never  had  he  seen  so  fine  a  horse. 
"I  will  straightway  lead  him  to  the  stable,"  quoth  he,  "and  give 
him  some  fodder." 

"Nay,  not  so,"  quoth  the  knight.  "Let  the  horse  stand  where 
he  is."  So  saying,  he  strode  into  the  presence  of  the  Prior  and 
his  friends.  Saluting  them,  he  knelt  down,  saying,  "Right 
glad  am  I,  Sir  Prior,  to  come  as  I  promised  on  this  day." 

"Well,"  said  the  Prior,  in  a  surly  tone,  "hast  thou  brought 
my  pay?" 

Then  the  knight  bethought  him  to  make  a  test,  to  see  whether 
the  Prior  had  a  hard  or  a  merciful  heart;  so  he  said: 

"Not  a  penny." 

"Thou  art  a  shrewd  debtor,"  quoth  the  Prior.  "Drink  to 
me,  Sir  Sheriff,  for  the  land  is  now  mine."  Then,  addressing 
the  knight,  he  said,  "Wherefore  dost  thou  come  here,  if  indeed 
thou  hast  no  money?" 

"I  come  thus,  on  my  knees,  to  pray  thee  that  thou  wilt  give 
me  a  little  time  of  grace — a  few  months — for  I  have  found 
good  friends  that  will  then  help  me  in  my  sore  need." 

"The  time  is  past,"  quoth  the  man  of  law,  "and  thy  land  is 
now  forfeit  to  the  Prior." 

"Nay,  say  not  so.  Be  my  friend  and  defend  me,  for  the 
Prior  is  rich  and  I  am  poor." 

But  the  lawyer  had  been  promised  a  good  fat  fee,  so  he  an- 
swered, "I  hold  by  the  Prior  in  his  rights." 

Then  Sir  Richard  turned  to  the  Sheriff,  saying,  "Take  pity, 
Sir  Sheriff,  and  use  thy  good  offices  in  my  behalf." 

"Nay,  in  sooth,"  was  the  curt  reply,  "that  I  will  not." 

Again  the  knight  besought  the  Prior  to  be  merciful.  "For  I  will 
be  thy  true  servant  till  the  four  hundred  pounds  are  fully  paid." 

"Nay,  by  the  mass,"  sternly  replied  the  Prior,  "of  this  land 
thou  wilt  get  none." 

Then,  rising  from  his  knees  and  standing  proudly  up  before 
them,  the  knight  cried  angrily:  "By  Saint  Dunstan,  if  I  do  not 
get  what  is  mine,  full  dear  ye  shall  buy  it." 

[222] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Straightway  the  Prior  began  to  abuse  him  and  spake  evil 
words  to  him,  his  anger  swelling  ever  the  more  as  he  talked. 
"Out  upon  thee,  thou  false,  beggarly  knight,"  he  said  at  last; 
"speed  thy  way  out  of  my  hall." 

But  Sir  Richard  made  a  threatening  step  forward,  and  in  a 
stern  voice  cried:  "Thou  liest,  Prior  Vincent,  false  knight  I 
never  was.  My  fame  and  good  name  are  known  among  true 
hearts.  In  jousts  and  tournaments  have  I  always  been  at  the 
front,  and  all  that  know  me  can  bear  witness  to  my  bravery 
and  truth.  No  true  churchman,  prior  or  bishop,  would  be 
so  discourteous  as  to  let  a  noble  knight  kneel  so  long." 

Then  the  sharp  man  of  law  perceived  that,  as  the  time  was 
not  yet  past,  it  might  be  that  the  knight  could  pay.  So  he  turned 
to  the  Prior,  saying: 

"What  wilt  thou  give  if  the  knight  will  release  his  land,  for 
you  may  have  some  trouble  to  keep  it  in  peace?" 

"A  hundred  pounds  will  I  give,"  said  the  Prior. 

"Nay,  give  him  two  hundred,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"Thou  wicked  Prior,"  quoth  Sir  Richard,  "I  vow  thou  shalt 
not  be  my  heir,  though  thou  givest  a  thousand  more."  Then 
upon  the  table  he  upturned  his  bag  of  gold.  "There  are  thy 
four  hundred  pounds,  thou  wretched  usurer.  Hadst  thou  shown 
me  any  courtesy  or  spoken  one  word  of  kindness,  some  interest 
would  have  been  thy  reward." 

When  the  Prior  saw  the  gold  he  stood  speechless  with  amaze- 
ment, and  he  pushed  his  wine-cup  away  from  him.  Then  he  asked 
the  man  of  law  to  give  him  back  his  fee,  now  that  no  deed  was 
to  be  made. 

"Nay,  not  a  penny  do  I  give  back,"  cried  the  lawyer. 

The  Prior's  face  turned  red  with  shame  and  anger;  he  lay  back 
in  his  wide  arm-chair,  closed  his  eyes,  and  would  not  speak  a  word. 

"Sir  Prior,"  quoth  the  knight,  "and  thou  man  of  law,  now  that 
I  have  paid  my  debt  the  land  is  mine  for  aught  ye  can  gainsay." 

Then  he  strode  to  the  door,  all  his  troubles  over,  with  a  bright 
and  cheerful  face.  At  a  near-by  inn  he  donned  his  best  clothing, 
and,  mounting  his  horse,  rode  away,  well  satisfied  that  he  had 
15  [  225  ] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

with  dignity  and  noble  demeanor  shamed  the  wily  Prior  as  a 
true  knight  should  do.  The  joy  he  felt  in  being  rid  of  his  great 
burden  and  his  delight  in  looking  forward  to  the  meeting  with 
wife  and  family  were  unbounded.  The  woodland  notes  of  song- 
birds, the  pretty  flowers  and  green  leaves,  all  seemed  so  much 
more  beautiful  when  he  thought  of  his  unhappy  state  before  he 
met  Robin  Hood,  who  seemed  to  him  the  kindest  and  best 
of  men.  Now  he  was  riding  home  as  a  noble  knight  should, 
with  lofty  mien,  rich  raiment,  a  fine  horse  and  trappings,  and  a 
servant  by  his  side.  "Truly,  my  kind-hearted  John,"  said  he, 
"how  sweet  is  life  after  bitter  trials!  The  thanks  I  owe  thy  mas- 
ter and  thee,  I  cannot  now  put  into  words." 

Right  on  they  rode  until  they  came  to  Sir  Richard's  Castle 
of  Briarlea.  As  he  drew  nigh  to  the  gate  his  noble  lady  met 
him,  saying: 

"Welcome,  my  dear  husband.  Are  our  land  and  castle  lost 
to  us,  or  hath  aught  been  saved?" 

"Be  merry,  good  lady,"  quoth   the  knight,  "and  pray  for 
Robin  Hood,  that  his  soul  may  be  ever  in  bliss.    He  it  was  that 
helped  me  in  my  hour  of  need,  and  were  it  not  for  his  great  kim 
ness,  we  should  now  surely  be  beggars  without  home  or  land. 
The  greedy  Prior  hath  been  paid,  and  all  is  now  our  very  own." 
Then  he  told  how,  while  on  his  way  to  ask  the  Prior  for  moi 
time,  the  good  Robin  Hood  had  invited  him  to  dine  and  ha< 
loaned  him  the  money  to  be  paid  in  a  year. 

"Now,"  he  finished,  "we  will  dwell  peacefully  at  home,  anc 
with  careful  saving  gather  together  the  four  hundred  pound; 
ready  to  pay  at  the  appointed  time." 

Little  John  stayed  with  the  knight  and  did  his  duty  well, 
though  he  pined  to  be  back  again  at  the  oak  glade.  Yet  he  pa- 
tiently waited  till  the  twelve  months  passed  by.  Then,  true 
to  his  knightly  pledge,  Sir  Richard  rode  back  once  again  t( 
Sherwood  Forest  and  there  paid  back  to  Robin  all  he  ow< 
Amid  feasts  and  merrymaking,  Little  John  was  welcomed  home 
and  the  knight's  freedom  from  debt  was  cheered  and  celebrate 
in  joyous  songs. 


XX 


ROBIN    MEETS    MAID    MARIAN 

[ILE  Little  John  was  away  at  Sir  Richard's 
castle,  serving  as  his  squire,  Robin  Hood  and 
all  his  merry  men  sorely  missed  him.  The 
tall  outlaw  was  so  jolly  and  kind  of  heart  that 
every  one  of  his  companions  loved  him  full 
dear.  For  a  time  the  oak  glade  seemed  dull, 
^  n  and  Allan-a-Dale  was  more  often  asked  to 
sing  or  play.  Friar  Tuck  and  Will  Scarlet  did  their  best  to 
make  Robin  be  of  good  cheer,  and  right  glad  were  they  when 
some  adventure  fell  in  their  way. 

With  the  long  years  of  woodland  life,  Robin  Hood  had  changed 
but  little  in  face  or  form,  though  he  had  gained  much  in  wisdom. 
He  was  more  resourceful  than  of  yore,  and  through  constant 
practice  with  long-bow,  sword,  and  quarter-staff,  both  in  play 
and  in  stern  battles,  he  was  perfect  master  of  all  his  men.  No 
longer  young,  he  was  now  just  past  the  prime  of  life,  and  an 
extremely  handsome  man.  His  curly  locks  and  beard  of  a 
red-brown  color  set  off  his  dark,  ruddy  complexion.  His  clothes 
were  either  of  deep  Lincoln  green  or  deep  scarlet.  Always  as 
neat  as  a  pin,  his  weapons  ever  in  perfect  order,  he  was  looked 
upon  as  a  hero  by  women  and  children  when  seen  on  the  great 

[227] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

highway  or  at  church.  His  manner  to  all,  both  high  and  low, 
was  kind,  without  the  slightest  trace  of  pride  or  vainglory, 
and  his  charity  was  unbounded.  If  he  met  young  lads  venturing 
in  the  forest  after  birds'  nests,  or  hunting  small  game,  he  would 
take  the  greatest  pains  to  bring  down  some  rare  animal  or  bird 
for  them  with  his  unerring  shaft.  If  he  met  little  lassies  a-black- 
berrying,  he  had  ever  some  coins  in  his  pouch  to  give  them; 
and  to  the  gaffers  and  old  wives  likewise  he  gave  gifts,  if  need 
were,  with  kindly  words  to  boot.  Small  wonder  it  was  that 
the  folks  roundabout  for  miles  knew  him  only  to  love  and  ven- 
erate him. 

Now  I  must  tell  you  that  when  Robin  was  a  young  boy  living 
on  his  father's  land,  nigh  unto  Needwood  Forest,  in  North  Staf- 
fordshire, he  had  for  a  playmate  a  bonny  maid  of  high  degree 
called  Maid  Marian,  that  for  rare  beauty,  face,  and  favor,  no 
maid  could  excel  in  all  the  country  round.  To  her,  Robin  was 
known  as  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  and  in  their  childish  play 
they  pledged  themselves  to  one  another  as  young  lovers. 

But  fortune  severed  them  when  Robin  left  his  home  on  that 
fateful  fifteenth  birthday.  Since  then  they  had  never  set  eyes 
on  each  other,  though  oft  in  their  thoughts  they  loved  to  re- 
member the  youthful,  happy  days  spent  together.  For  a  long 
time  Marian  was  sad,  and  oft  she  sighed  for  her  absent  friend. 
As  time  went  on  her  parents  died,  and  she  was  left  alone  with 
friends,  who,  for  a  while,  were  kind  to  her  because  she  had  lands 
of  her  own.  But  things  changed  for  the  worse,  and  her  lands 
were  taken  from  her.  Troubled  in  mind,  she  bethought  her  of 
her  childhood  friend,  who,  she  heard,  had  become  the  famous 
outlaw,  Robin  Hood  of  Sherwood  Forest.  At  last  she  made  up 
her  mind  to  go  and  seek  him  out,  throw  herself  at  his  feet,  and 
ask  him  to  aid  her  for  the  sake  of  their  old  friendship.  Well 
aware  of  the  danger  of  traveling  alone  dressed  as  a  woman, 
she  decided  to  array  herself  like  a  youthful  page  and  range 
through  Sherwood  Forest  till  she  found  her  dear  Robin  Hood. 

So,  clad  in  youth's  attire,  with  quiver  and  bow,  sword  and 
buckler,  she  started  on  her  way,  and  soon  reached  the  forest. 

[228] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

On  that  very  same  day  Robin  made  up  his  mind  to  visit  Not- 
tingham town.  To  shield  him  from  the  eyes  of  the  Sheriff  and 
his  men,  he  put  on  a  patched  gray  suit  and  a  hat  of  which  he 
could  draw  the  vizor  down  over  his  eyes  to  shade  his  face.  He 
had  gone  some  distance,  and  was  just  skirting  round  the  wood  by 
a  well-worn  but  narrow  pathway,  when  he  spied  a  youthful  form 
coming  toward  him.  Making  his  voice  deep  and  gruff,  for  fear  the 
young  stranger  might  be  one  of  the  Sheriff's  spies,  he  cried  out: 

"What  is  thy  business,  young  stranger,  and  where  dost  thou 
go  in  this  wood?" 

Thinking  Robin  was  some  rough  thief,  the  youthful  stranger 
boldly  replied:  "What  is  that  to  thee?  I  go  where  I  list.  Mind 
thine  own  affairs  and  leave  me  to  mine." 

"That  will  I  not,"  quoth  Robin.  "Not  one  step  shalt  thou 
stir  without  my  leave."  Then,  drawing  his  sword,  he  stepped 
forward  threateningly. 

But  the  youth  drew  out  a  thin,  bright,  glistening  blade,  and 
fell  to  with  such  quick  blows  that  Robin  had  all  he  could  do 
to  guard  himself. 

"Thou  wilt  find,"  quoth  the  youth,  "little  though  I  be,  that  I 
can  master  thee  and  make  some  more  holes  in  thy  ragged  coat 
— perchance  in  thy  skin,  if  it  be  not  too  thick." 

Robin  answered  not  a  word,  but  fought  carefully,  parrying 
and  feinting,  but  striking  no  earnest  blow,  for  he  had  no  will  to 
hurt  the  lad.  At  last  the  stranger,  whose  sword  was  lighter 
and  more  easily  handled,  gave  a  sudden  thrust  which  cut  a  deep 
flesh  wound  across  Robin's  cheek,  so  that  the  blood  ran  fast 
down  his  face. 

"Oh,  hold  thy  hand,  young  sir,"  said  Robin,  in  his  natural 
voice.  "Hold  thy  hand,  and  thou  shalt  be  one  of  my  merry 
men  to  range  the  forest  with  bold  Robin  Hood." 

Then  Marian  remembered  the  voice  of  her  lover,  and  said:  "Ay, 
Robin,  'tis  thine  own  self.  At  last  I  have  found  thee." 

"In  good  faith,  who  art  thou  that  dost  remember  me?" 

"Why,  'tis  I — Marian — the  maiden  friend  of  thy  youth, 
come  in  search  of  thee  to  aid  me  in  my  sore  need." 

[231] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Then  he  knew  that  it  was  Marian's  voice;  and  he  drew  her 
quickly  toward  him,  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips,  like  a  true 
and  loyal  lover. 

After  a  space  they  turned  and  bent  their  steps  toward  the 
oak  glade,  but  on  the  way  Marian  made  great  dole  over  the 
wound  she  had  given  him. 

"In  truth,"  quoth  jolly  Robin,  "  'tis  naught.  Right  glad  am  I 
to  have  it,  for  without  this  wound  I  should  not  have  found  thee." 

Anon  she  told  him  of  her  sorrows,  and  asked  him  if  he  could 
find  a  place  for  her  safe  keeping.  "For,  Robin,"  said  she,  "I 
have  no  other  friend  but  thee." 

"Right  blithe  am  I  that  'tis  so,"  quoth  Robin.  "We  will 
find  room  for  thee  in  Allan-a-Dale's  bower,  under  care  of  his 
wife,  till  the  time  when  thou  shalt  set  the  day  for  Friar  Tuck 
to  marry  us." 

Soon  they  came  to  the  oak  glade,  where  Robin  with  a  blast 
of  his  horn  drew  all  his  band  together,  and  told  them  in  few 
words  how  the  case  stood,  and  what  he  meant  to  do.  Amid 
the  loud  cheers  that  made  the  woods  ring  and  re-echo,  Allan-a- 
Dale's  wife  went  up  to  Marian  and  kissed  her.  Then,  putting 
her  arms  around  her  waist,  she  led  her  to  the  bower.  On  that 
same  even  was  such  a  bustling  and  excitement  as  ne'er  was 
seen  before,  for  all  set  to  work  in  right  good  earnest  to  make  a 
stately  banquet  in  honor  of  the  betrothed  chief  and  his  fair 
Maid  Marian. 

In  a  short  space  the  board  was  set,  groaning  with  good  things. 
A  great  flagon  of  the  best  wine  was  placed  before  each  man,  that 
every  one  in  turn  might  drink  a  merry  toast  to  their  beloved 
captain  and  his  beautiful  bride  soon  to  be.  When  they  had 
feasted  long  and  well,  Robin  rose  from  the  table  and  pledged 
Marian  in  a  deep  cup,  after  which  all  his  tall,  comely  yeomen 
did  likewise. 

Thus  bravely  did  these  stout  hearts  wish  Robin  well,  and 
each  cup,  as  it  was  emptied,  they  filled  with  speed  again.  But 
all  good  times  must  have  an  end,  and  so  at  last  their  merry- 
making came  to  a  close.  Just  as  the  nightingale  began  its  sweet 

[232] 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND  MARIAN  IN  THEIR   BOWER 


ROBIN    HOOD 

song  they  all  went  to  rest,  happy  over  the  latest  yet  sweetest 
addition  to  their  band. 

Twas  not  many  days  hence  when  Friar  Tuck,  after  much 
thought  and  many  whisperings  with  the  others,  announced 
that  the  wedding  would  now  be  solemnized.  And  so  they  were 
married,  the  lovely  bride  decked  out  with  many  beautiful  jewels 
that  were  gifts  from  each  one  of  the  band.  On  this  day,  the 
great  oak,  as  well  as  the  whole  glade,  was  festooned  and  gar- 
landed with  sweet  flowers — jessamine,  eglantine,  honeysuckle, 
and  wild  roses,  forget-me-nots  from  the  brookside,  pied  daisies 
and  cowslips.  The  sward  was  a  thick  carpet  of  sweet-smelling 
posies,  and  the  merry  birds,  when  they  saw  the  glade  turned 
into  a  garden,  came  to  the  twigs  and  branches  and  sang  a  glo- 
rious melody  together,  while  the  happy  bride  and  the  brave 
groom  walked  slowly,  hand  in  hand,  to  their  new  and  beautiful 
bower,  where  they  lived  together  in  great  content  for  many  a 
long  day  after. 


XXI 


KING    RICHARD    VISITS    ROBIN 

I  ING  RICHARD,  the  mighty  warrior,  had  now 
returned  home  to  his  kingdom,  after  an  ab- 
sence of  more  than  four  years  in  the  Holy  Land, 
fighting  the  Turks.  A  year  of  that  time  he 
was  held  a  prisoner,  chained  in  a  castle  in  the 
Austrian  Tyrol.  He  was  set  free  upon  pay- 

__ _         ment  of  a  large  ransom,  and  finally  reached 

England  in  the  spring  of  1194,  where  he  met  his  mother,  Eleanor, 
who  told  him  of  his  brother  John's  rebellion.  Richard  at  once 
pushed  northward,  and  on  the  28th  of  March  the  Castle  of 
Nottingham,  which  was  held  by  men-at-arms  for  Prince  John, 
surrendered  to  the  King. 

The  Sheriff  was  not  slow  in  making  complaint  of  the  forest 
outlaws;  and  Richard,  ever  fond  of  adventure,  was  moved  to 
find  out  for  himself  how  the  matter  stood.  So,  much  to  the 
Sheriff's  surprise,  he  said  that  he  would  see  Sherwood  Forest 
and  meet  the  famous  outlaw  face  to  face. 

"It  is  my  will  to  go  clad  as  monk,"  quoth  he,  "and  thou  shalt 
choose  me  out  five  knights  to  attend  me." 

"My  liege,"  said  the  Sheriff,  "all  shall  be  done  as  thou  sayest, 
[236] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

and,  as  ever,  thou  dost  wisely;  for  a  monk  or  prior  doth  never 
fail  to  entice  this  sly  rogue." 

To  this  King  Richard  answered  never  a  word,  but  watched 
the  Sheriff  grimly  as  he  made  a  low  obeisance  and  departed; 
for,  to  say  sooth,  he  loved  not  this  wily  man  over  well.  But 
in  what  he  had  heard  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  deeds  he  found 
something  to  his  liking.  He  loved  not  hunting  the  deer  as  his 
forefathers  had  loved  it,  for  his  great  joy  lay  in  fighting  either 
in  mortal  hand-to-hand  combats  or  in  tournaments.  So  stark 
was  he  that  no  man  might  withstand  him  in  single  fight.  None 
the  less,  he  was  jealous  of  his  rights  over  the  forests,  and  of  the 
rights  of  his  earls  and  barons,  who  might  hunt  as  they  listed 
so  long  as  they  gave  him  money  and  men  for  his  wars. 

Of  the  nine  years  that  Richard  was  King  of  England  he  dwelt 
but  nine  months  in  his  own  kingdom.  For  the  rest  he  was  in 
foreign  lands,  either  at  war  or  as  a  prisoner.  Like  Robin  Hood, 
he  delighted  to  seek  adventure  in  disguise,  going  oft  alone,  and 
trusting  to  his  own  courage  and  strength  of  arm. 

So  the  day  after  the  King  came  to  Nottingham  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  he  should  visit  Sherwood,  under  the  guidance  of 
the  captain  of  the  foresters,  who  promised  to  lead  him  to  Robin 
Hood's  glade.  King  Richard  was  arrayed  in  abbot's  attire, 
and  his  five  knights  went  as  monks,  but  all  had  on  chain  mail 
beneath  their  cloaks.  Following  some  distance  behind  was  the 
King's  war-horse,  fully  caparisoned,  together  with  some  sumpter- 
horses  under  the  care  of  his  squires.  After  they  had  gone  some 
distance  into  the  deep  forest  it  so  befell  that  they  met  Robin 
Hood  standing  right  in  their  path.  Robin  stepped  forward  and 
placed  his  hand  upon  the  bridle  of  the  King's  horse,  calling  out: 

"Sir  Abbot,  by  your  leave,  I  desire  that  ye  abide  with  us  awhile. 
We  be  yeomen  of  this  forest,  who  live  by  the  King's  deer,  for  we 
have  no  other  shift.  But  I  trow  thou  hast  many  churches  with 
rents  that  yield  thee  gold  a-plenty.  Therefore,  good  Abbot, 
prithee  give  us  some  of  thy  moneys  for  holy  charity." 

Then  said  the  King:  "Truly,  I  have  brought  with  me  no  more 
than  forty  pounds,  for  I  have  been  at  Nottingham  these  last 

[239] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

few  days  with  our  King,  where  I  have  spent  much  of  my  money 
on  the  great  earls  and  barons  there.  Wherefore,  good  sir,  having 
but  forty  pounds,  no  more  can  I  give,  though  I  would  it  were 
a  hundred  pounds  that  I  might  give  unto  thee." 

Robin  took  the  forty  pounds,  and,  dividing  it  into  parts,  gave 
half  to  his  men.  Then  he  spake  courteously  to  the  abbot: 

"Sir  Abbot,  far  be  it  from  me  to  take  all  thou  hast;  therefore 
take  this  other  part  for  thine  own  use,  and  I  trust  we  shall  meet 
again  another  day." 

"Grammercy,"  said  the  King.  "In  sooth,  thou  art  a  reasonable 
outlaw,  and  our  King  Richard  greeteth  thee,  and  doth  send 
his  seal  to  bid  thee  come  to  Nottingham,  both  to  dine  and  to  drink 
with  him."  Thereupon  he  took  from  his  pouch  the  great  seal, 
to  show  Robin  it  was  in  truth  a  royal  command. 

Robin  uncovered  his  head,  and  knelt  down  on  his  knee,  saying: 
"I  love  no  man  in  all  the  world  so  well  as  I  do  our  mighty  King. 
Welcome,  then,  is  this  seal  to  me.  And,  Sir  Abbot,  for  thy 
good  tidings  to-day  thou  shalt  dine  with  me  under  my  trysting- 
tree  for  the  love  I  bear  to  our  King." 

Forthwith  he  led  the  abbot  and  his  monks  to  the  great  oak, 
and,  taking  his  horn,  blew  three  loud  blasts,  whereat  seven- 
score  hardy  yeomen  came  running,  and  stood  ready  all  in  a 
row,  each  man  bending  his  knee  before  Robin. 

The  King  said  to  himself,  "Now,  by  Saint  Austin,  this  to  my 
thinking  is  a  wonderful  sight  to  behold;  for  this  outlaw's  men 
are  more  to  his  bidding  than  my  men  are  to  mine." 

Robin  then  gave  some  orders,  and  straightway  the  yeomen 
hasted  to  make  ready  a  feast  for  the  King  and  his  men.  With 
might  and  main  they  worked,  and  anon  before  the  King  were  set 
great  haunches  of  venison  and  good  white  bread,  with  red  wine 
and  rich  brown  ale  to  wash  it  down. 

"Make  good  cheer,  Abbot,"  cried  Robin,  "and  be  assured 
that  for  thy  tidings  of  the  King  thou  art  blessed  in  my  sight. 
Now  shalt  thou  see  the  life  we  lead  before  thou  wendest  thy 
way  back  to  Nottingham,  that  thou  mayst  tell  our  brave  King 
thereof  when  next  thou  shalt  meet  with  him." 

[240] 


THE  KING  BEGAN  TO  ROLL  UP  HIS  SLEEVE 


ROBIN    HOOD 

When  they  had  feasted  enough,  all  started  up  in  haste  to  show 
the  abbot  their  skill  with  the  long-bow.  The  King  looked  about 
him  warily  when  he  saw  the  outlaws  bending  their  bows,  thinking 
they  might  perchance  prove  traitors.  But  he  was  soon  unde- 
ceived when  he  saw  them  placing  two  wands,  with  garlands  of 
roses  atop,  for  targets  at  a  hundred  paces  away. 

"The  distance,"  quoth  he,  "is  far  too  long  for  good  aim." 

Quoth  Robin:  "I  trow  that  any  single  man  who  faileth  to 
shoot  through  yon  fair  garland  shall  forfeit  his  arrows — be  they 
made  ever  so  fine — and,  what  is  more,  he  shall  get  a  good  buffet 
on  the  head  from  his  master." 

Then  each  shot  in  turn,  and  those  who  missed  Robin  smote 
wondrous  sore;  for  he  wished  the  King  to  hear  how  his  brave 
men  were  the  best  archers  in  merry  England.  In  the  first  two 
rounds  Robin  split  the  wand  both  times,  and  so  did  Gilbert,  the 
cook,  whom  they  called  Gilbert  of  the  White  Hands,  because  he 
was  always  mixing  the  flour  to  make  bread.  Then  Little  John 
and  Will  Scarlet  again  split  the  wand.  At  the  last  shot  that 
Robin  took  he  missed  the  mark  full  three  fingers. 

Then  up  spake  good  Gilbert.  "Master,  thine  arrows  are 
forfeit.  Stand  forth  and  take  thy  pay  in  one  sound  buffet." 

"If  it  be  so,"  quoth  Robin,  "I  will  deliver  my  arrows.  I 
pray  thee,  Sir  Abbot,  to  serve  me  well  with  a  buffet  of  thy  strong 
arm." 

"It  is  not  the  custom  of  my  order,"  said  the  King,  "to  smite 
a  good  yeoman,  and  in  sooth  I  fear  I  shall  do  thee  harm.  By 
thy  leave,  good  Robin,  I  had  rather  another  should  do  it." 

"I  give  thee  leave,"  quoth  Robin.  "Smite  boldly;  I  fear  no 
harm  from  thee." 

So  the  King,  with  a  half-smile  upon  his  face,  began  to  roll  up 
his  sleeve,  while  Robin  planted  his  feet  wide  apart  and  waited 
with  a  light  heart,  for  he  thought  that  no  fat  abbot  would  budge 
him.  The  next  moment  he  found  himself  sprawling  on  the  grass 
while  the  greenwood  seemed  to  swim  round  him.  Slowly  he 
arose,  rubbing  his  sore  head. 

"I  make  my  vow,"  quoth  he,  "thou  art  a  stalwart  churchman; 
[243] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

there  is  pith  in  that  tough  arm  of  thine.  No  other  hath  e'er  before 
smitten  me  so  hard,  and  I  did  think  that  none  but  King  Richard 
himself  had  such  might  of  arm."  Then  he  looked  closer  at  the 
smiter,  and  he  saw  that  the  disguised  abbot  was  in  very  truth 
the  King.  Falling  again  to  his  knee,  he  cried:  "  'Tis  my  liege 
lord,  the  King  of  England,  now  I  know  it  well.  Mercy  I  ask, 
under  our  trysting-tree,  of  thy  kingly  goodness  and  grace.  I 
ask  it  for  all  my  men  and  for  me." 

"Yea,  good  outlaw,"  said  the  King,  "thy  prayer  I  do  grant 
thee,  on  condition  that  thou  and  all  thy  company  do  forthwith 
leave  the  greenwood  and  come  back  to  the  court,  there  to  dwell 
close  to  my  person." 

"I  make  my  vow  to  God,"  quoth  Robin,  "that  I  will  go  to 
thy  court  and  join  thy  service,  and  take  with  me  my  sevenscore 
men,  to  be  thy  loyal,  true  servants  forevermore." 

But  fate  decreed  it  otherwise,  for  the  King  went  back  to 
Nottingham  to  hold  a  great  council  for  a  judgment  againt  his 
brother,  Prince  John.  A  few  weeks  later  he  crossed  from  the 
Isle  of  Wight  to  Harfleur  in  France,  and  never  returned  to  his 
court  and  country. 


XXII 

ROBIN    WINS    THE    QUEEN'S    PRIZE 

fOME  years  after  his  visit  to  Robin  Hood, 
King  Richard  went  to  his  fathers,  being 
wounded  in  the  arm  by  an  arrow  shot  from 
the  bow  of  a  young  Norman,  Bertrand  de 
Gurdrum.  In  those  days  of  rude  surgery  the 
barbed  iron  head  of  the  shaft  could  not  be 
drawn  out  without  cruelly  mangling  the  flesh. 
And  so  the  Warrior  King  died.  His  brother,  the  wicked  Prince 
John,  ascended  the  throne  and  by  his  unwisdom  lost  the  crown 
of  England,  the  fair  lands  of  Normandy,  and  other  provinces. 
At  last  the  barons  forced  him  to  sign  the  Magna  Charta,  after 
he  had  brought  the  people  to  a  state  of  abject  slavery.  Sud- 
denly the  tyrant  was  called  to  his  last  account.  With  his  army 
he  tried  to  cross  the  estuary  of  the  Wash  against  a  strong 
inflowing  tide.  There  the  King's  baggage-wagons  and  sumpter- 
horses,  with  his  treasures,  his  armor,  and  clothing,  were  all  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  waters.  Among  them  stood  King  John,  helpless 
and  despairing — even  his  crown  was  swept  away  by  the  strong 
current.  Three  days  later  he  died  from  the  exposure. 

Then  a  little  boy  of  nine  years  old  became  King  under  the 
name  of  Henry  III.,  and  at  his  coronation  a  fillet  of  gold  was 

[245] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

placed  upon  his  head  in  lieu  of  the  crown  that  was  lost  by  King 
John. 

The  young  King  grew  to  manhood,  and  in  the  course  of  time 
married  Eleanor.  The  nuptial  festivities  were  of  extraordinary 
splendor.  The  citizens  of  London  especially  came  forth  with 
all  their  pomp,  and  among  their  merrymakings  was  a  great 
shooting-match  at  which  costly  prizes  were  offered  to  the  best 
archers  from  all  over  England. 

Robin  Hood  was  now  past  threescore  and  ten,  though  no 
one  would  take  him  to  be  more  than  forty-five.  Breathing 
outdoor  air  night  and  day,  living  upon  plain,  hearty  food,  and 
practising  himself  in  the  use  of  all  weapons  as  of  yore,  it  seemed 
that  he  would  always  be  young.  There  was  scarce  a  tinge  of 
gray  in  his  hair  or  beard,  and  his  teeth  were  white,  glistening  like 
those  of  a  boy. 

Little  John,  some  years  younger  than  Robin,  was  quite  as 
hearty.  Will  Scarlet  and  the  rest  changed  little  save  that  the 
years  softened  and  mellowed  them.  One  or  two  had  gone  to 
their  long  rest  in  peace,  followed  by  the  prayers  and  good  wishes 
of  loving  hearts.  Among  them  had  gone  the  good  Friar  Tuck, 
whose  remains  were  lovingly  carried  through  the  greenwood 
in  a  huge  oaken  coffin,  slung  from  the  shoulders  of  a  dozen  stal- 
wart men,  to  a  grave  beside  Fountains  Abbey,  according  to  his 
last  wish.  The  little  chapel  he  had  caused  to  be  built  for  the 
especial  use  of  the  outlaws  had  received  his  careful  attention  to 
the  last.  Nevertheless,  feeling  that  his  time  would  soon  come, 
not  knowing  when  he  might  be  called  away,  he  had  trained  an 
assistant — a  tall,  comely  lad  named  Cecil,  whose  gentleness  and 
sweet  nature  filled  in  a  measure  the  void  left  by  the  loss  of  the 
worthy  friar.  And  so  young  Friar  Cecil  now  called  with  a  little 
bell  the  outlaws  to  vespers  and  matin-song. 

We  must  now  go  into  Nottingham  town,  to  the  Blue  Boar  Inn, 
the  same  place  where  Robin,  many  years  ago,  had  befooled  the 
Tinker  and  stolen  his  warrant.  The  old  inn  was  much  as  before. 
On  the  same  seat,  at  the  same  bench,  was  seated  a  great,  tall 
fellow  dressed  in  green,  his  long-bow  and  quiver  at  his  back, 

[246] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

talking  quietly  to  another  bold  archer  dressed  in  red.  Each  had 
a  tankard  of  ale  beside  him,  and  their  looks  were  bent  upon  a 
handsome  boy  of  sixteen,  richly  dressed  as  a  page.  The  youth 
had  just  dismounted  from  a  beautiful  white  steed,  which  he  turned 
over  to  the  hostler  to  be  fed.  Striding  up  to  a  bench  near  t'.e 
archers,  he  called  for  the  landlord,  bidding  him  bring  a  bottle 
of  Rhenish  wine.  "I  pray  you,  brave  archers,"  he  cried,  "drink 
me  a  toast  to  our  noble  and  beautiful  Queen  Eleanor,  and  to 
my  search  for  the  bold  Robin  Hood." 

The  tall  archer  said  to  his  companion,  "We  can  drink  to  the 
first  part  of  that,  but  what  would  he  with  our  captain?"  So 
they  drank  with  the  youth,  and  the  tall  fellow  said:  "Tell  me 
truly  what  is  thine  errand  with  Robin  Hood,  my  fair  young 
stranger?  Perchance  we  may  guide  thee  to  him  if  thou  meanest 
no  harm." 

"Nay,  in  sooth  it  is  not  so,"  quoth  the  youth.  "I  tell  thee 
truly,  I  am  Richard  Patrington,  the  Queen's  page;  and  she  did 
call  me  to  her  chamber,  saying,  'Post  thou  to  Nottingham  as 
fast  as  thou  canst  ride;  search  throughout  the  forest  of  Sherwood 
to  inquire  of  one  good  yeoman  or  another  where  Robin  Hood 
doth  abide.'  " 

"Tell  me,  sweet  page,"  said  the  archer,  "what  is  the  cause 
that  the  good  Queen  seeketh  Robin  Hood?" 

"Sir  archer,"  said  the  page,  "  'tis  a  message  from  our  Queen 
for  Robin  Hood.  She  will  have  him  go  up  to  London,  and  will 
guard  him  from  all  harm,  but  more  I  will  not  tell  thee  as  at 
this  time." 

"We  will  guide  thee,  young  page,  so  mount  thy  white  steed 
and  follow  us  on  through  the  forest." 

Straightway  they  set  out,  an  archer  on  either  side  of  the  white 
horse.  Striding  swiftly  along,  they  reached  the  glade,  where 
the  band  were  seated  or  lying  at  ease  upon  the  greensward. 

"What  gay  young  spark  is  this,"  cried  one,  "that  Little  John 
and  Will  Scarlet  have  brought  unto  us?"  For  the  page  was 
dressed  in  bright-colored  velvets  and  adorned  with  silk  ribbons 
and  jewels. 

[2471 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"There  standeth  Robin  Hood,"  quoth  Little  John  to  the  page. 

Thereat  young  Patrington  stepped  forward  and  fell  on  one 
knee,  saying:  "Famous  outlaw,  our  noble  Queen  Eleanor  doth 
send  thee  greetings  by  me.  Having  heard  of  thy  fame  as  an 
archer,  she  would  fain  see  thee  and  witness  thy  wondrous  skill 
with  the  bow.  Be  it  known  to  thee  that  our  gracious  King  Henry 
of  great  renown  will  shortly  hold  a  shooting  -  match  in  Fins- 
bury  Field,  in  presence  of  all  the  Court.  All  the  best  archers 
in  merry  England  will  strive  for  a  grand  prize,  and  our  Queen 
would  fain  see  the  gallant  Robin  Hood  the  victor  in  the  match. 
She  bids  me  command  thee  to  be  present,  and  doth  promise  to 
guard  thee  and  thy  men  that  ye  may  return  to  Sherwood  without 
harm.  This  gold  ring  is  a  sign  of  her  good-will,  and  she  biddeth 
thee  post  to  fair  London  without  any  fear." 

Then  Robin  answered:  "Fair  young  page,  I  will  do  the  com- 
mands of  our  noble  Queen  right  merrily.  This  ring  she  sends 
by  thee  shall  never  part  from  me."  So  saying,  he  kissed  the  ring 
right  loyally  and  placed  it  upon  his  finger.  "Before  we  go, 
my  gallant  page,  thou  must  rest  and  take  food,  the  while  we 
go  to  array  ourselves  in  seemly  guise."  So  he  called  Little 
John,  Will  Scarlet,  and  Allan-a-Dale,  to  go  with  him  to  the 
Court. 

Anon  they  came  forth,  ready  to  start.  Robin  was  clad  from 
head  to  foot  in  scarlet,  and  his  men  in  Lincoln  green,  with  black 
caps  and  long,  white,  feathery  plumes.  Each  had  a  fine  horse, 
and  with  young  Patrington  they  rode  away  to  London  town. 

Early  on  the  morn  of  the  third  day  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  walls  and  battlements  of  the  city.  Their  young  guide  was 
of  great  aid  in  picking  the  way  through  the  maze  of  people 
gathered  together  for  this  great  occasion,  and  they  soon  arrived 
at  the  Court,  where  Queen  Eleanor  received  Robin  and  his  com- 
panions with  much  kindness. 

Quoth  the  Queen:  "Thou  art  welcome,  bold  Robin  Hood,  and 
so  are  thy  true  companions.  I  know  of  thy  skill,  and  fear  not  to 
wager  that  thou  wilt  bear  off  the  great  prize.  Go  forth  and  do 
thy  best." 

[248] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Then  Robin  kneeled,  saying:  "Ay,  that  will  I,  your  gracious 
Majesty." 

So  on  the  next  day  there  were  gathered  together  the  most 
famous  archers  of  merry  England  at  the  archery  range— Tepus, 
the  bow-bearer  to  the  King,  a  great  favorite  with  the  common 
people;  also  young  Clifton,  the  winner  of  many  prizes;  and 
Gilbert  the  Smith,  with  his  strong  arm,  who  pulled  a  mighty 
long-bow,  though  in  truth  he  was  more  famed  for  shooting  far 
than  for  skill  in  marksmanship. 

Finsbury  Field  was  a  gay  sight  with  its  throngs  of  people, 
for  twenty  renowned  archers  were  about  to  strive  for  great  prizes 
— three  hundred  tuns  of  Rhenish  wine,  three  hundred  tuns  of 
beer,  and  leave  to  shoot  three  hundred  of  the  fatted  hart  in 
Dalton  Forest. 

On  each  side  of  the  archery  range  were  rows  and  rows  of  seats, 
all  filling  with  a  noisy,  chattering  crowd  of  high  officials,  barons, 
and  knights,  with  their  ladies  fair. 

The  targets  were  all  set  forth  and  the  distance  measured.  All 
was  in  readiness,  waiting  the  advent  of  the  King  and  the  Queen 
to  take  their  seats  on  the  royal  dais.  Soon  loud  cheers  proclaimed 
their  coming,  and  at  last  the  trumpet  sounded  as  the  royal 
pair  rode  along  with  waving  plumes  and  jewels  flashing  in  the 
sunlight.  Then,  dismounting,  they  took  their  seats,  amidst  the 
clamorous  cheers  of  the  people. 

When  all  were  silent  again,  a  herald  entered  the  ground  and 
gave  three  loud  blasts  from  a  silver  trumpet,  calling  the  archers 
before  the  King,  to  make  their  reverences  to  him  before  the 
shooting  began. 

Now  the  King  was  exceeding  proud  of  the  archers  of  his  guard. 
He  looked  them  over  with  an  approving  eye,  well  assured  that 
he  knew  who  would  win.  Oft  before  had  these  famous  bowmen 
given  him  good  cause  for  his  trust;  and  now  in  right  kingly, 
courteous  fashion  he  bade  them  do  their  uttermost. 

Amid  a  breathless  silence  the  shooting  began  in  good  earnest, 
and  soon  the  targets  were  pricked  full  of  arrows.  Upon  the 
second  trial  many  archers  dropped  out.  New  targets  were  set  up, 

[251] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

while  the  crowd  waited  impatiently  to  cheer  and  shout  for  their 
favorites. 

'Twas  then  the  noble  Queen  Eleanor  turned  to  the  King  and 
asked:  "Are  these  in  truth  the  very  best  archers  in  merry  Eng- 
land?" 

"In  good  sooth,"  quoth  the  King,  "not  only  the  best  in  Eng- 
land, but  in  all  the  world  besides.  Who  can  show  such  skill  as 
Gilbert,  who  hath  twice  pricked  the  very  center  with  his  shaft — 
or  the  bold  young  Clifton  ?  Fain  would  I  see  any  that  could  match 
them." 

"Yet  I  know,"  replied  the  Queen,  "of  two  archers  who  could 
easily  better  their  best." 

"Bring  them  forth,  my  Queen,  if  they  be  nigh,"  quoth  the 
King,  laughing.  "With  so  fair  a  champion,  they  should  at  least 
do  something  to  cover  thy  fair  face  from  shame  at  their  sure 
defeat." 

"Of  that,"  said  Eleanor,  "I  have  no  fear,  and  will  match  two 
archers  against  all  that  are  here  to-day — providing  thou,  my 
King,  wilt  grant  them  freedom  to  come  and  go  as  they  list." 

"In  sooth,"  laughed  the  King,  "my  fair  Queen  shall  not  ask 
in  vain.  Bring  forth  whatsoever  archer  thou  wilt,  and  I  will 
promise  him  freedom  to  go  and  come  for  forty  days,  without 
harm  or  hindrance,  under  thy  fair  favor.  What  is  more,  should 
any  shoot  better  than  my  good  bow-bearer,  Tepus — or  even  do 
as  well — I  will  give  him  prizes  to  boot.  And  with  thee  I  lay  a 
wager  of  a  silver  bugle  and  a  gold-tipped  arrow." 

"I  take  thy  wager,  Harry,  my  King."  Then,  with  merry 
laughter  from  all  the  knights  and  ladies  near  by,  the  Queen 
cried,  "Is  there  no  noble  knight  of  our  Court  that  will  share  in 
this  wager  of  his  Queen?  Come  hither  to  me,  Sir  Cyril  Leigh, 
that  art  a  full  good  knight,  or  thou,  good  Bishop  of  Hereford, 
and  lay  a  wager  upon  mine  archers." 

"Nay,  pardon,  most  gracious  and  fair  Queen,"  quoth  the  Bishop, 
"I  fear  to  wager  what  little  I  have  against  such  brave  archers 
as  the  King's,  and  I  know  not  any  strange  archer  that  can  win." 

"Bring  forth  thy  archers,"  said  the  King. 
[252] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Marry,  I  will,"  quoth  the  Queen,  merrily,  trusting  full  well 
that  Robin  would  win  the  prize. 

Then  she  beckoned  to  young  Richard  Patrington,  and  bade 
him  call  Robin  Hood,  who  waited  close  by.  Anon  Robin  and 
Little  John  were  seen  marching  across  to  the  Royal  pavilion, 
where  they  stopped,  bent  their  knees,  and  doffed  their  caps. 

King  Henry  gazed  for  a  while  and  was  silent.  When  the  Bishop 
of  Hereford  saw  who  the  new-comers  were,  his  face  changed. 

"By  the  mass,"  quoth  he,  "  'tis  the  saucy  villain,  Robin  Hood, 
and  his  twin  rogue,  Little  John,"  and  he  began  to  puff  out  with 
rage.  But  the  Queen  stopped  his  further  speech  with  a  wave 
of  her  fair  hand,  saying: 

"My  brave  archers,  I  have  laid  a  wager  that  ye  will  outshoot 
the  best  man  now  on  Finsbury  Field.  Will  ye  both  do  your 
utmost  to  win  the  prize,  for  the  sake  of  your  Queen?" 

"Ay,  that  we  will,  gracious  Majesty,"  quoth  Robin.  Then 
catching  sight  of  the  Bishop,  he  said:  "My  gracious  Queen,  I 
would  fain  crave  a  boon  of  thee,  which  is  only  that  I  might 
speak  a  few  words  to  my  lord  the  Bishop  of  Hereford  here  in  this 
presence."  As  he  said  this  he  quaked  inwardly,  despite  his 
boldness,  for  the  King  looked  black.  But  Queen  Eleanor  was 
in  a  merry  mood,  and  thought  to  have  some  sport  with  the 
Bishop,  so  she  said: 

"Thy  boon  is  granted." 

Then  Robin  said  unto  the  Bishop:  "My  Lord  Bishop,  seeing 
that  we  have  known  each  other  of  old  time,  I  make  bold  to  ask 
thee  what  thou  wilt  wager  with  me  that  I  have  the  worse  in  this 
match." 

"By  my  silver  miter,"  quoth  the  Bishop,  wrathfully,  "all 
the  money  within  my  purse,  and  that  is  fifteenscore  nobles,  nigh 
a  hundred  pounds."  With  that,  he  cast  his  purse  down  before 
Robin.  Then  Robin  took  the  money  pouch  from  his  side  and 
cast  it  beside  the  Bishop's  purse. 

"I  know  who  this  money  must  win,"  quoth  Little  John, 
smiling,  as  they  went  to  take  their  places  for  the  shooting. 

As  the  archers  were  making  ready  for  the  second  bout  the 
[253] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

King  turned  to  the  Bishop  and  asked,  "What  is  this  that  thou 
sayest?  Who  are  these  men  our  Queen  doth  champion  against 
the  flower  of  English  archery?" 

"My  gracious  King,"  quoth  the  Bishop,  in  slow,  severe  tones, 
"yon  villain  in  red  is  a  notorious  outlaw  thief  from  Sherwood 
Forest,  named  Robin  Hood.  The  big,  long-legged  rogue  in 
green  is  t'other  villain's  right-hand  helper,  whom  they  call  Little 
John.  Both  of  them  took  me,  late  one  Saturday  night,  bound 
me  fast  to  a  tree,  and  made  me  sing  a  mass.  A  murrain  upon 
him  and  his  vile  outlaw  band!  Many  a  time  hath  he  robbed 
me  and  the  Church,  God  wot!" 

At  this  the  King  was  very  wroth,  and  his  brow  grew  dark. 
Turning  to  the  Queen,  he  said,  in  angered  tones,  "Can  this  be 
true?" 

"What  the  Bishop  saith,"  replied  the  Queen,  "may  be  true; 
report  hath  it  that  he  once  made  merry  with  Robin  Hood.  But 
remember  thy  royal  promise  of  safety  to  those  men  for  forty 
days." 

"True,"  said  the  King.  "The  promise  shall  be  kept,  but 
let  them  beware  what  they  do  both  now  and  when  their  time 
is  past." 

Then  he  called  forth  his  archers  and  bade  them  sternly  to 
redouble  their  efforts,  because  the  Queen  had  laid  a  wager  on 
the  outlaw  Robin  Hood.  "So  take  heed,"  quoth  he,  "that 
your  shafts  fly  true  and  to  the  mark." 

Now,  the  King's  archers,  like  everybody  else,  had  heard  of 
Robin  Hood;  and  Tepus,  like  a  sensible  man,  replied  simply: 

"We  will  do  our  best  to  uphold  the  honor  of  our  illustrious 
King." 

"Well  s^id,  good  Tepus.  I  am  content,  and  by  Saint  Hubert, 
I  believe  we  have  the  victors  upon  our  side." 

Finsbury  Field  was  all  agog  with  excitement,  and  a  loud 
buzzing  could  be  heard  as  the  news  spread  from  one  to  another 
that  the  great  outlaw  would  now  shoot  on  the  Queen's  wager 
against  the  King.  Many  in  the  crowd  liked  it  not,  and  there  were 
some  who  murmured;  yet  on  second  thought  they  considered 

[254] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

that  it  would  be  wiser  not  openly  to  affront  the  Queen,  who  was 
very  popular. 

The  trials  had  now  brought  down  the  competitors  to  six  archers 
for  the  King  and  only  two  for  the  Queen.  The  King's  men 
were  Gilbert  of  Warwick,  stout  Tepus,  the  bow-bearer,  young 
Clifton  of  Kent,  Kenneth  of  Tittenson,  and  two  brothers, 
Hugh  and  Steve  of  the  moorlands.  Then  came  Little  John 
and  Robin  Hood  for  the  Queen. 

Clad  in  bright  colors,  the  men  made  a  bra,/e  show;  and  so 
thought  the  people  as  they  stretched  their  necks,  tier  above 
tier,  to  see  them.  Attendants  had  already  set  new  targets  in 
place,  while  six  upright  willow  wands,  straight  and  true,  exactly 
covered  the  center  of  each  target.  Such  a  mark  none  was  ex- 
pected to  touch  at  so  long  a  range.  A  score  of  new  long-bows 
lay  on  the  ground,  ready  for  any  who  should  by  accident  damage 
his  own  weapon. 

The  King's  archers  tossed  up  a  penny  for  choice  of  targets, 
but  Robin  and  John  put  aside  their  chance,  saying  that  all 
marks  were  the  same  to  them.  In  like  manner  did  they  choose 
to  give  others  the  first  trial.  Each  archer  shot  six  arrows  in 
turn.  Tepus,  leading,  did  well,  for  every  arrow  hung  on  his 
target.  Likewise,  so  did  Gilbert,  one  of  his  shafts  striking  the 
center  ring,  whereat  loud  and  long  cheers  went  up.  Clifton  and 
Kenneth  were  not  so  true.  Both  missed  the  target,  each  with 
a  single  shaft.  Then  came  Little  John's  turn.  He  stepped 
forward  to  the  line  with  his  great  seven-foot  bow,  and  loosed 
his  shafts  so  fast  that  it  seemed  to  the  beholders  as  if  they  had 
been  sped  with  a  single  pull  of  the  string. 

All  the  arrows  hung  safe  on  his  target.  He  knew  another 
round  must  needs  be  shot,  and  he  only  wished  to  equal  the 
rest.  No  cheering  was  heard,  and  all  the  people  watched  closely 
as  Robin  stepped  forward  with  modest  mien  and  held  up  his 
long-bow  of  greater  length  than  his  own  body.  He  slowly  pulled 
from  his  quiver  his  best  shaft,  one  of  those  he  had  himself  tied 
with  feathers  from  the  wild  swan's  wing. 

He  looked  first  at  the  King,  and  next  at  the  Queen.     Then, 


ROBIN    HOOD 

with  a  faint  smile,  he  sped  his  shaft  to  the  very  center  of  the 
target.  Resting  his  bow  upright,  he  said:  "Good  Tepus,  for 
this  round  I  rest  upon  that  shot  alone." 

Still  there  was  no  cheering.  The  field  was  as  if  peopled  with 
marble  statues.  At  last  came  whispering  sounds,  gradually 
growing  louder,  till  it  was  wafted  on  the  faint  wind  to  Robin's 
ear  that  his  shot  was  merely  a  stroke  of  luck  and  could  not 
be  repeated. 

"Master,"  whispered  John,  "shoot  again  to  show  that  it  was 
no  chance  shot." 

"Nay,  nay,  John,  be  patient.  Let  the  archers  go  on  in  their 
rightful  turns." 

With  a  slight  paleness  in  his  face,  Tepus  once  more  made  a 
trial,  taking  the  most  careful  aim.  Gilbert  followed,  and  both 
lodged  their  shafts  in  the  center,  making  them  even  with  Robin. 
The  people  were  now  wild  with  delight,  because  their  favorites, 
though  they  had  made  no  better  shots  than  Robin,  yet,  having 
two  arrows  in  the  center  ring,  would  win  the  day  unless  Robin 
should  by  a  miracle  do  better. 

The  score  now  stood  two  center  shots  against  one.  Then  Little 
John  once  more  took  his  bow,  and  this  time  shot  with  greater 
care.  But  though  he  placed  all  his  shafts  very  near  the  center, 
he  failed  to  beat  the  King's  men.  The  King  smiled,  and  bade 
the  Bishop  of  Hereford,  who  looked  somewhat  surly  and  down- 
cast, be  of  good  cheer. 

Now  Robin  took  off  his  bow-string  and  put  on  a  new  one  with- 
out fray  or  flaw.  Slowly  and  calmly  he  again  took  his  place 
at  the  line.  In  his  seventy  years  of  venturesome  life  he  had 
won  many  a  match,  and  never  had  he  been  worsted  with  the 
long-bow.  He  felt  that  his  Queen  placed  great  trust  in  his  skill. 
To  say  sooth,  she  had  gone  far  toward  quarreling  with  her  hus- 
band, King  Henry,  whose  temper  was  something  of  the  shortest, 
while  his  power  made  it  unsafe  for  any  to  cross  his  will. 

But  of  this  Robin  took  no  thought.  To  his  simple  mind, 
he  was  there  at  the  Queen's  bidding,  to  do  her  honor,  to  win 
the  prize,  and  to  maintain  the  fame  of  himself  and  his  com- 

[256] 


w 

1 

w 


ROBIN   HOOD 

rades  who  loved  him.  He  knew  exactly  what  he  could  do.  All 
was  in  his  favor;  the  bright  sun  was  behind  him  to  give  a  white 
light  on  the  target,  and  not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  to  mar  his 
aim.  He  alone  of  the  vast  throng  was  calm.  He  could  easily 
have  played  with  the  people,  and  teased  them  as  a  cat  does  a 
mouse,  by  prolonging  the  contest. 

At  last  he  raised  the  bow,  and,  drawing  the  string  to  the  utmost 
length  of  the  shaft,  held  it  there  so  long  and  so  steadily  that 
the  people  wondered  if  he  were  struck  stiff,  though  in  truth  'twas 
but  a  moment  he  stood  so. 

Twang!  and  the  shaft  sped,  quick  as  light.  The  arrow  split 
the  wand  in  twain,  and  still  in  its  flight  pierced  clean  through 
the  target  in  the  very  middle. 

A  burst  of  genuine  delight  rent  the  air,  and  even  the  King 
could  not  choose  but  cheer.  The  people  stopped  their  shouts 
of  a  sudden,  for  they  saw  Robin  nock  another  shaft  and  shoot 
once  more.  The  second  time,  he  split  his  own  arrow  that  stood 
straight  in  the  target's  center.  Again,  for  the  third  time,  an 
arrow  went  whizzing,  and  the  second  shaft  was  split  in  twain. 

Then  Robin  unstrung  his  great  bow,  and,  hanging  it  over  his 
back,  he  strode  calmly  down  to  make  his  obeisance  to  the  Queen. 
Little  John  followed  at  his  master's  heels,  and  the  King's  archers 
came  some  distance  behind. 

Finsbury  Field  was  a  very  bedlam.  The  crowd  rushed  up 
to  the  targets  to  view  them  close  at  hand  and  finger  the  broken 
shafts,  for  this  was  a  thing  that  would  be  told  to  their  children 
in  song  and  story  for  many  a  year  to  come. 

As  Robin  bent  his  knee,  the  King  scowled  darkly,  and  without 
a  word  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  left  the  pavilion. 

Then  Queen  Eleanor  said,  smiling:  "Rise,  most  gallant  and 
brave  archer!  Thou  hast  won  the  prize — nay,  much  more,  thou 
hast  made  for  thyself  in  this  our  capital  city  an  enduring  name. 
Worthily  hast  thou  done,  and  thy  victory  shall  remain  a  bright 
and  splendid  deed  of  our  reign.  We  will  give  command  to  send 
the  prizes  whithersoever  thou  wilt  have  them." 

"Nay,  fair  and  gracious  Queen,"  quoth  Robin,  "Tepus  and 
[259] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Gilbert  are  good  archers;  upon  them,  I  pray,  bestow  the  prizes. 
I  need  no  hart  of  Dalton  Forest,  nor  wine,  nor  beer,  for  we  have 
enough  and  to  spare.  But  the  silver  bugle  and  gold-tipped 
arrow,  an  it  please  thee,  give  to  myself  and  my  good  John, 
that  we  may  ever  keep  them,  in  remembrance  of  this  our  visit." 

"As  thou  dost  desire,  brave  outlaw,  so  it  shall  be  done.  But 
this  I  must  tell  thee,  bold  Robin:  I  would  fain  be  sure  that  thou 
wouldst  instantly  depart  from  this  our  city,  that  thou  mayst 
come  to  thy  home  in  the  North  without  scathe.  The  King  is 
deeply  angered,  and,  though  we  may  trust  to  his  promise,  some 
treacherous  one,  thinking  to  please  him,  may  strive  to  do  thee 
harm.  So  tarry  not,  but  leave  the  city  at  once,  under  the  guid- 
ance of  my  page,  Richard  Patrington." 

"We  will  obey,"  quoth  Robin.  "But  first  I  fain  would  speak 
a  word  with  yon  Bishop  concerning  our  wager."  Then,  turning 
to  where  the  Bishop  of  Hereford  was  seated,  he  said: 

"Sir  Bishop,  thy  wager  is  lost,  but  take  it  back  as  a  recom- 
pense for  that  we  took  from  thee  in  merry  Sherwood." 

"Nay,  now,  master,"  said  Little  John,  under  his  breath,  "that 
shall  not  be.  We  must  divide  it  as  a  gift  to  the  King's  servants 
in  return  for  their  good  service  on  Finsbury  Field." 

Quoth  Robin:  "Gracious  Queen,  honest  Little  John  here  hath 
put  me  in  mind  that  we  owe  something  in  courtesy  to  the  King's 
servants.  Therefore,  with  thy  good  leave,  we  will  fee  them  out 
of  the  Bishop's  purse,  sin  he  hath  fairly  lost  this  wager." 

Then  the  Bishop's  heart  was  as  black  as  the  glance  he  shot 
toward  John,  for  he  had  hoped  to  gather  in  Robin's  money  along 
with  his  own. 

When  they  had  given  largess  of  the  money  the  Bishop  had  lost, 
they  followed  young  Patrington,  and  were  soon  lost  among  the 
dense  crowd,  on  their  way  back  to  their  home  in  Sherwood 
Forest. 


XXIII 

ROBIN    PURSUED    BY    THE    KING 

[OUNG  PATRINGTON  guided  the  two  arch- 
ers toward  the  inn  where  their  horses  had  been 
left  in  charge  of  Will  Scarlet  and  Allan-a-Dale. 
They  all  mounted  and  rode  together  through 
Highgate,  where  they  got  upon  Ermine  Street, 
that  led  due  north  toward  Hertford,  North- 
ampton, and  Nottingham.  When  they  were 
safe  on  the  great  highway,  young  Patrington  left  them  and  re- 
turned to  the  Court.  The  four  outlaws  were  a  merry  party, 
riding  abreast  and  chatting  together  of  their  doings  in  London 
town.  Will  Scarlet  was  disappointed  at  seeing  so  little  of  the 
city  and  its  citizens,  of  which  he  had  heard  so  much,  but  Robin 
saw  the  wisdom  of  their  hasty  retreat.  So  they  trotted  leisurely 
on,  meaning  to  put  up  at  St.  Albans  for  the  night. 

Now  when  the  King  arose  from  his  seat  in  such  great  anger 
he  went  to  his  chamber;  and  in  due  time  the  Queen  followed, 
with  divers  officials  and  dignitaries  of  the  Court.  Hiding  his 
vexed  spirit  from  the  Queen,  the  King  asked  for  the  Bishop, 
and  when  he  had  found  him  he  took  him  aside. 

"How  now,  Bishop?"  quoth  he.  "Canst  thou  not  devise  some 
plan  to  ensnare  these  two  outlaw  villains  and  bring  them 

[261] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

back  hither?  For  I  know  that  thou  hast  good  cause  to  hate 
them." 

"Yea,  by  the  mass,  that  I  have.  These  many  years  have  I 
hoped  to  see  the  sly  fox  trapped,  and  it  would  be  a  goodly  sight 
for  me  to  behold  the  naughty  thief  dangling  by  the  neck  from 
some  tall  tree." 

"Then,"  said  the  King,  "let  us  together  follow  after,  with  a 
score  of  men-at-arms,  to  cut  him  off  ere  he  reach  his  den." 

"Ay,"  quoth  the  Bishop,  "that  would  be  merry — but  the 
promise  to  the  Queen." 

"The  Queen,"  replied  Henry,  "must  not  know.  Therefore 
be  ready  early  to-morrow,  and  I  will  give  out  that  we  go  on  a 
peaceful  mission." 

Now  young  Patrington,  who  had  returned  and  was  talking 
to  his  brother,  one  of  the  men-at-arms,  chanced  to  learn  of  the 
plot,  and  straightway  went  to  tell  the  Queen.  Thereat  her 
Majesty  was  sore  vexed,  and  she  bade  young  Richard  ride  hard 
and  fast  that  night  to  overtake  the  little  band  of  outlaws  and 
warn  them  of  their  peril.  So  he  mounted  his  horse  and,  galloping 
as  fast  as  the  wind,  came  at  break  of  day  to  St.  Albans,  where 
he  soon  found  Robin  and  his  comrades  making  ready  for  an 
early  start. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  fair  young  page?"  said  Robin. 
"Doth  the  Queen  again  command  our  services?" 

"Nay,"  replied  the  page,  "but  that  dastard  Bishop  hath  per- 
suaded the  King  to  follow  you  with  men-at-arms  and  to  hang 
you  all  upon  a  tree.  The  Queen  bade  me  ride  on  before,  to  warn 
you;  for  they  have  by  this  time  started,  and  will  soon  be  upon 
you." 

"Go  back  and  carry  our  grateful  thanks  to  our  fair  Queen, 
and  say  that  we  will  guard  us  well."  So  young  Richard  departed, 
and  rode  on  his  way  back  to  London  town. 

"Now,  my  comrades,"  quoth  Robin,  "we  must  here  scatter, 
leave  the  highway,  and  take  to  the  woods  and  by-paths.  We  will 
sell  our  horses  and  go  afoot."  But  Little  John  would  have  none 
of  this  plan.  Much  better  it  seemed  to  him  to  ride  apace  and  get 

[262! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

to  Sherwood  before  the  score  of  men-at-arms,  that  they  might 
defend  their  trysting-place  against  them. 

"Do  as  it  pleaseth  thee,"  quoth  Robin,  "for  in  this  matter 
I  will  lay  no  command  upon  any.  But  for  mine  own  part,  I  will 
go  afoot." 

So  Little  John,  Will,  and  Allan  galloped  fast,  and  reached 
Sherwood  safe  and  sound  without  let  or  hindrance.  But  Robin 
led  his  horse  through  the  town  seeking  a  buyer.  Anon  he  met 
a  milkman  with  a  mule,  upon  whose  back  were  slung  two  milk- 
cans.  The  milkman  wore  a  long  shepherd's  smock,  covering 
his  body  down  to  his  shoes,  and  upon  his  head  he  had  a  squirrel- 
skin  hood  with  a  tail  hanging  down  upon  either  side  of  his  face. 
"Good  faith,"  quoth  merry  Robin  to  himself,  "this  garb  will  suit 
me  well." 

"Good  milkman,"  said  he,  "wilt  thou  change  thy  old  rickety 
mule  for  my  horse  and  trappings,  and  thy  ragged  smock -coat 
for  my  scarlet  raiment,  with  ten  bright  shillings  to  boot?" 

"Right  blithely,"  quoth  the  milkman.  Then,  taking  off  his 
smock  in  a  trice,  for  fear  Robin  should  repent  him  of  so  unequal 
a  bargain,  he  threw  the  smock  in  his  face  and  laid  hold  upon  the 
horse's  bridle. 

"Not  so  fast,"  quoth  Robin.  "Take  my  plumed  cap  for  thy 
skin  hood."  The  change  was  made,  and  both  parted  well 
content. 

Robin  jogged  alongside  his  mule  and  milk-pails  till  about  the 
hour  of  noon,  when  he  stopped  at  a  little  village  for  food  and 
rest.  While  he  sat  on  a  bench,  quietly  munching  a  piece  of  hard 
rye  bread  and  now  and  then  taking  a  draught  of  milk  from  a 
small  cup  that  he  found  with  the  cans,  what  was  his  surprise 
to  see  a  company  of  men-at-arms  riding  up  with  the  King  and 
the  Bishop  in  the  lead!  They  came  at  a  sharp  trot,  yet  one  of 
the  men  turned  aside,  saying,  "Milkman,  hast  thou  seen  four 
mounted  archers  pass  along  this  road?" 

Then  Robin  made  answer:  "Was  one  arrayed  in  scarlet,  the 
others  in  green?" 

"Yea,  so  they  were." 

[263! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Then,"  said  Robin,  "go  straight  ahead,  and  ye  will  catch 
them  soon." 

Without  more  words  the  man  galloped  away  to  join  the  others, 
and  all  then  mended  their  pace. 

Now  Robin  knew  full  well  that  they  would  soon  come  back 
from  this  vain  quest,  so  he  gave  his  milk-cans  to  an  old  woman 
and  cut  him  a  stout  cudgel  from  the  wayside.  Then,  throwing 
his  leg  over  the  mule's  back,  he  walloped  the  poor  beast  with 
might  and  main,  and  went  bibity-bump  along  the  main  high- 
way, hoping  to  reach  Fountains  Abbey  in  Needwood  Forest 
before  the  dawn.  So  after  journeying  all  night  he  came  to  the 
Abbey  at  break  of  day,  thoroughly  tired  out,  his  back  and  arm 
full  sore  with  belaboring  the  slothful  mule. 
•  Just  as  Robin  had  foreseen,  the  King  and  the  Bishop  soon  re- 
traced their  steps.  When  they  questioned  other  wayfarers  they 
learned  that  no  such  men  as  those  they  sought  had  passed  along 
that  road,  and  they  were  full  wroth  that  the  milkman  had  befooled 
them.  They  found  the  milk-cans,  and  as  soon  as  the  old  woman 
had  told  them  the  way  that  Robin  had  taken,  they  galloped 
off  in  full  cry  after  their  prey. 

Meanwhile  Robin,  by  good  fortune,  found  Friar  Cecil  at  Foun- 
tains Abbey.  After  partaking  of  a  good  meal,  which  the  Friar 
soon  set  before  him,  he  said: 

"Now,  good  Cecil,  I  must  tarry  here  no  longer,  for  those  hounds 
are  in  full  cry,  and  the  Bishop,  who  leads  the  King  in  quest  of 
me,  knoweth  this  place.  Therefore,  if  they  come  before  I  go, 
the  men-at-arms  will  surround  the  Abbey,  and  I  am  undone. 
Get  me,  then,  pious  Cecil,  a  palmer's  habit,  to  don  in  place  of 
this  milkman's  attire,  which  thou  must  bury  in  the  garden. 
As  for  the  mule,  I  will  leave  it  in  this  place,  for  it  is  a  dull  beast 
that  hindereth  me  and  availeth  not  for  speed." 

Then  Robin  strode  off,  with  his  palmer's  staff  and  bottle,  at 
a  swinging  pace,  that  he  might  be  well  on  his  way  before  the 
King  and  his  company  should  reach  the  Abbey.  Three  hours 
later  the  King  and  the  Bishop  stood  knocking  at  the  door,  while 
the  men-at-arms  closed  in  around  the  little  hermitage, 

[264] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"By  my  mitered  staff,"  roared  the  Bishop,  "we're  trapped 
the  wily  fox  at  last!  For  there  stands  the  mule  upon  whose 
back  he  rode  to  this,  his  den." 

"Open,"  shouted  the  King,  "or  we  will  dash  the  door  to 
splinters." 

Then  Cecil  unchained  the  door,  holding  a  small  book  in  his 
hand,  and  asked,  with  a  pious,  wondering  look:  "What  can  the 
matter  be  that  ye  do  so  rudely  disturb  my  vesper  devotions?" 

"Reason  enow!"  quoth  the  Bishop.  "Thy  devotions  must  e'en 
wait  till  we  have  skimmed  the  cream  from  the  milkman  that 
lies  hidden  in  some  hole  of  thy  den.  Know,  young  Friar,  that 
the  Bishop  of  Hereford  speaks !  Therefore  bring  forth  straight- 
way the  owner  of  the  mule." 

"I  gladly  give  myself  up,  as  owner  of  the  mule,  to  thee,  my 
Lord  Bishop.  Enter,  then,  good  sirs.  Search,  rest,  accept 
food  and  drink,  and  take  whatever  ye  will." 

The  King  and  the  Bishop  went  in  and  hurriedly  searched  the 
room,  but  found  naught  to  show  that  any  stranger  had  been 
there.  "Hath  no  man  come  hither  in  the  night?"  asked  the 
Bishop. 

"None  but  a  poor  old  palmer,"  replied  Cecil,  "who  hath  gone 
home  on  his  way  to  Trentham  Abbey." 

Said  the  Bishop  to  the  King,  "In  faith,  the  sly  rogue  hath 
changed  his  coat  again." 

When  they  had  eaten  and  drunk  and  rested  for  an  hour,  they 
started  on  to  Trentham,  little  the  wiser  for  the  many  questions 
they  asked  of  Friar  Cecil.  Robin  was  now  a  long  way  on  his 
journey,  and  had  reached  the  little  town  of  Stafford.  He  was 
full  sure  that  his  pursuers  would  be  thrown  off  the  scent  at 
Fountains  Abbey,  but  in  this  he  gave  the  Bishop  too  little  credit 
for  craft.  You  must  know  that  Robin  had  an  old  acquaintance 
at  the  little  Priory  of  Trentham  in  Friar  Tunnicliffe,  whom  he 
had  befriended  in  times  gone  by.  He  trusted  that  the  friar 
would  now  give  him  a  hearty  welcome,  and  mayhap  shelter  him 
till  the  King's  wrath  abated. 

It  was  the  last  thing  in  his  mind  to  lead  the  King  and  the  Bishop 
[265! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

to  Sherwood;  for,  though  he  doubted  not  that  in  fair  fight  his 
yeomen  could  beat  the  King's  sevenscore  men-at-arms,  yet 
he  feared  that,  by  ill  luck,  the  King  himself  might  be  wounded 
or  killed  by  an  arrow.  That  would  mean  that  an  army  would 
be  sent  against  the  outlaws.  For  this  cause  Robin  sought  to 
entice  the  King  away  from  the  forest. 

Friar  Tunnicliffe  was  a  very  pious  and  godly  man,  whose 
prayers  were  almost  as  long  as  his  appetite.  It  was  his  boast 
that  he  could  eat  like  a  lion  and  sleep  like  a  babe,  yet  he  was 
wondrous  thin  and  meager  of  face,  so  that  he  seemed  ever  as  if 
he  fasted.  When  Robin  knocked  at  the  Priory  door  he  was 
admitted,  like  all  pilgrims.  Straightway  he  asked  for  Friar 
Tunnicliffe;  and  when  he  made  himself  known,  the  good  friar 
fell  upon  his  neck,  bellowing  and  blubbering  and  bedewing 
him  with  tears  of  gladness.  Robin  then  told  of  the  sad  plight 
he  was  in,  and  who  it  was  that  pursued  him. 

"Do  the  King  and  the  Bishop  know,"  asked  the  good  friar, 
"that  thou  meanest  to  abide  with  us?" 

"Nay,  that  I  know  not,"  said  Robin.  "All  depends  upon 
young  Cecil,  whether  he  will  tell  the  truth,  or  by  craft  persuade 
them  to  take  another  road." 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  we  must  at  once  get  thee  another  disguise. 
Then,  should  they  come  here,  I  will  go  with  thee  some  distance. 
Both  dressed  alike  in  our  friars'  gowns,  with  book  and  beads, 
cowl  and  hood,  none  shall  take  note  of  us.  By  my  faith,"  he 
cried,  when  Robin  had  changed  his  attire,  "thou  art  a  better 
friar  than  I,  and  of  a  more  pious  and  holy  mien." 

Just  then  they  heard  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  growing 
louder  and  louder  on  the  great  Watling  highway,  which  passed 
directly  by  the  Priory.  Then  Robin  knew  that  the  Bishop  and 
the  King  were  again  upon  him.  Good  Friar  Tunnicliffe  hastily 
took  up  his  staff,  and  both  strode  on  their  way  up  the  road  to- 
ward Chester  away  from  the  approaching  horsemen.  When  they 
had  gone  a  short  space  the  friar  bade  his  friend  a  tender  farewell 
and  retraced  his  steps  back  to  the  Priory,  while  Robin  trudged 
along  toward  Chester. 

[266] 


PRIOR  WILLIAM  PROVIDES  A  FEAST  FOR   THE   KING 
AND  THE  BISHOP 


ROBIN    HOOD 

Now  the  Prior  of  Trentham  was  a  jolly,  fat,  hospitable  church- 
man, and  there  was  always  good  eating  and  drinking  to  be  had 
in  his  house.  He  was  unaware  of  the  meeting  of  Robin  and 
the  friar.  When  the  Bishop  and  the  King  made  known  to  him 
who  they  were  and  what  was  their  purpose,  he  swelled  with  pride, 
for  he  liked  nothing  better  than  to  feast  a  great  man  at  his 
plenteous  board;  and  now  that  he  had  the  King  with  him,  he 
vowed  to  give  him  a  feast  he  would  never  forget.  The  King 
confessed  he  was  growing  weary  of  chasing  this  wily  outlaw, 
and  the  Bishop's  mouth  always  watered  at  mention  of  a  feast. 

As  for  Robin,  he  pushed  along  at  a  swinging  pace,  and  was 
soon  past  the  nunnery  at  Stoke.  Up  Hartshill  and  down  along 
Thistlebery  he  went,  on  the  way  to  Nantwich,  where  he  stopped 
for  a  little  to  rest,  but  soon  pressed  on  and  reached  Chester 
on  the  following  noon.  The  King  was  sore  weary  after  his  hard 
ride  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  and  was  well  content  to  lie 
stretched  at  full  length  upon  a  downy  couch  in  Prior  William's 
chamber.  Soon  he  became  aware  that  the  Priory  had  a  larder  well 
stored  with  good  things,  for  a  pleasing  odor  was  wafted  to  his 
nostrils  on  the  gentle  morning  breeze. 

Prior  William  of  Trentham  both  knew  how  to  provide  all  sorts 
of  dainties  and  rich  dishes  and  was  himself  a  gallant  trencher- 
man. It  was  his  wont  to  stuff  himself  till  unbidden  tears  trickled 
down  his  ruddy  cheeks  at  the  sad  thought  that  no  more  could 
be  tucked  away.  Then  he  would  sleep  away  his  heaviness, 
snoring  loudly.  Throughout  the  feast  he  scarce  spake,  save 
ever  and  anon  to  bid  his  guests  be  merry  and  make  good  cheer. 

"Truly,"  quoth  the  King,  at  last,  "I  am  full  sore,  so  well 
have  I  fared.  And  thy  rich,  brown  ale  hath  a  nutty  flavor  that 
maketh  me  ever  crave  it  the  more." 

"I  am  honored,"  quoth  the  jolly  Prior,  "that  my  King  doth 
commend  my  simple  fare.  The  ale  is  of  a  special  brew,  of  the 
finest  Kentish  hops  and  Staffordshire  barley,  with  the  pure 
waters  of  our  silvery  Trent — of  which,  by  the  mass,  my  cellar 
shall  never  run  dry,  though  my  own  need  requires  four  gallons 
each  day,  and  two  extra  of  Sundays  and  saints'  days." 

[269! 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Methinks,"  said  the  King,  slyly,  "saints'  days  come  nigh 
every  day  in  the  year." 

"Marry,  that  they  do,"  quoth  the  Prior,  "and  I  make  my 
vow  never  to  miss  one." 

The  King  and  the  Bishop  were  now  fully  satisfied  and  ready  for 
rest,  so  they  laid  them  down,  and  were  soon  slumbering,  forgetful 
of  the  chase.  Meanwhile  brave  Robin  was  carrying  a  message 
from  Friar  Tunnicliffe  to  a  brother  at  St.  Dunstan's  Abbey, 
which  set  forth  that  he  was  a  poor  monk  on  his  way  to  London 
and  that  any  aid  given  him  would  benefit  the  Church.  For  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  his  safest  course  would  be  to  go  back 
to  London,  where  through  the  Queen's  good  help  he  might 
win  the  King's  pardon. 

The  good  friar  of  St.  Dunstan's  received  him  with  much 
kindness,  telling  him  that  some  holy  fathers  were  going  to  Lon- 
don on  the  morrow,  and  that  he  would  furnish  him  with  a  mount. 

"Much  thanks,"  quoth  Robin,  "and  take  these  five  pounds 
for  the  poor  of  the  parish  as  a  gift  in  return  for  thy  help."  So 
he  set  forth  in  company  with  the  priests,  and  when  he  arrived 
in  London  he  left  them  and  hied  to  Court. 

When  he  came  before  Queen  Eleanor,  he  fell  down  upon  his 
knee  before  her  and  said,  "An  it  please  thee,  gracious  Queen,  I 
am  come  to  speak  with  King  Henry." 

Queen  Eleanor  answered  bold  Robin,  '"The  King  is  gone  to 
merry  Sherwood,  and  when  he  went  he  said,  'I  go  to  seek  Robin 
Hood.' ' 

"Then  fare  thee  well,  my  Queen.  To  Sherwood  I  will  hie 
apace,  for  I  fain  would  see  what  it  is  that  the  King  would  have, 
if  I  can  but  meet  with  his  Majesty." 

But  when  King  Henry  came  home,  he  had  not  yet  set  eyes 
upon  Robin  Hood. 

"Thou  art  welcome  home,  Henry,  my  sovereign  liege,"  said 
the  Queen.  "That  bold  archer,  Robin  Hood,  hath  been  here 
to  seek  thy  person." 

When  the  King  heard  that  Robin  had  been  to  Court  seeking 
him,  he  laughed  and  answered:  "He  is  a  cunning  knave,  for  we 

[270] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

have  sought  him  this  whole  three  weeks,  uphill  and  down  dale, 
through  town  and  village,  through  woodland  and  field,  yet  the 
crafty  fox  escaped  us." 

"A  boon,  a  boon!"  cried  Queen  Eleanor.  "I  beg  it  here  of 
your  grace,  to  pardon  his  life  and  seek  no  more  to  take  him." 

"By  my  crown  and  scepter,  he  shall  have  pardon.  So  brave 
and  bold  a  heart  I  like  well.  So  crafty  and  wise  an  outlaw  doth 
deserve  the  freedom  of  his  merry  woodland  life.  If  the  Bishop 
will  have  Robin  Hood,  let  him  go  a-hunting  alone,  for  I  have 
had  enough." 


XXIV 

ROBIN    RESCUES    THE    WIDOW'S    SONS 

)BIN  kept  his  word  to  the  Queen  that  he 
would  hie  apace  back  to  Sherwood,  and  never 
before  in  all  his  life  did  he  enter  the  oak  glade 
more  glad  at  heart.  Though  Little  John  and 
his  comrades  had  feared  no  whit  for  his  safety, 
yet  they  gave  him  a  mighty  cheer  when  at 
last  they  saw  him  come  forth  from  the  forest 
trees.  So,  when  they  had  feasted  well,  they  sat  them  down  to 
talk,  for  it  was  early  evening. 

"How  sweet  to  my  ear,"  quoth  Robin,  "is  the  song  of  that 
throstle,  pouring  out  thanks  to  God!  And  so,  too,  do  I  thank 
my  Maker,  that  I  am  here  once  more  safe  and  sound  among  my 
own  dear  comrades,  after  such  a  chase  as  the  King  gave  me. 
As  for  that  fat  Bishop,  I  make  a  vow,  when  next  we  have  him 
here,  to  make  him  fast  forty  days  and  nights.  I'll  warrant  I 
will  square  his  roundness." 

The  Bishop  never  again  came  nigh  Sherwood  Forest,  and  for 
some  weeks  all  went  quietly  in  the  glade.  But  it  fell  upon  a 
merry  May  day  that  Robin  Hood  set  forth  for  Nottingham, 
and  by  the  wayside  he  spied  an  old  woman  sitting,  who  rocked 
to  and  fro  and  wept  full  sore. 

[272] 


"COME,  CHANGE  THINE  APPAREL  FOR  MINE,  OLD  MAN1 


ROBIN    H  O  O  D 

"What  is  the  matter,  good  woman,"  he  asked,  "that  thou 
dost  so  weep  and  mourn?" 

"The  matter  is  bad  enough,  good  sir,"  quoth  she.  "In  Not- 
tingham town  this  day  three  of  my  sons  must  die,  and  thou 
seest  me  a  poor  widow  left  alone  to  pine." 

"What  have  they  done?"  said  Robin  Hood.  "  Have  they  slain 
priest  or  friar,  or  have  they  burned  the  farmers'  hayricks?" 

"Nay,  good  sir,  none  of  these  things  have  they  done." 

"Then  what  have  they  done,  I  pray  thee  tell  unto  me?" 
'  Tis  for  slaying  of  the  King's  fallow  deer,"  said  she.    "Though 
they  did  bear  their  long-bows  in  thy  company,  they  were  am- 
bushed and  taken  by  the  Sheriff's  men,  and  are  now  lost  to  me 
for  ever." 

"Say  not  so,  good  woman,  by  the  truth  of  my  body,"  quoth 
bold  Robin  Hood.  "Thou  hast  told  me  in  good  time,  and  be 
assured  thy  sons  shall  come  safe  to  thee  again." 

"Art  thou  not  Robin  Hood?"  quoth  the  old  woman. 

"In  very  truth,  that  I  am.  Dost  thou  not  remember  how 
thou  didst  make  me  dine  and  sup  with  thee  in  thy  cottage  when 
I  was  in  danger?  Now,  therefore,  I  will  gather  my  men,  and  we 
will  save  thy  sons  to  thee."  Then  he  gave  three  loud  blasts 
upon  his  horn,  and  all  his  men  came  running  over  the  lea. 

"My  comrades,"  said  Robin,  "three  of  our  men  are  this  day 
condemned  to  die.  Therefore,  I  pray  you,  go  back  and  cover  your 
green  coats  with  mantles,  then  meet  me  at  the  hangman's  tree." 

He  himself  strode  away  to  Nottingham  town,  and  when  he 
drew  nigh  the  gate  he  met  an  old  palmer  walking  slowly  along 
the  highway. 

"What  news,  good  palmer?"  he  cried.  "What  news  of  the 
town  this  fair  day?" 

The  old  man  answered,  "Three  squires  in  Nottingham  town 
are  to  die  this  day  for  slaying  of  the  King's  deer." 

"Come,  change  thine  apparel  for  mine,  old  man,"  quoth  Robin. 
"Here  are  forty  shillings  in  good  silver,  go  spend  it  in  food  and 
drink." 

"Alack-a-day,  ne'er  laugh  an  old  man  to  scorn,  wherever 
[2751 


ROBIN    HOOD 

thou  goest;  for  my  apparel  is  torn  and  ragged,  and  thine  is  rich 
and  good." 

"What  is  that  to  thee,  thou  silly  old  man?  I  have  need  of 
thy  ragged  old  clothes,  and  here  are  twenty  pieces  of  good  gold 
that  I  will  give  for  them." 

The  palmer,  with  wondering  eyes,  took  the  money;  and  Robin 
put  on  the  old  man's  hat,  which  stood  full  high  in  the  crown. 
Then  he  cast  over  his  shoulder  the  cloak,  patched  with  black 
and  blue  and  red.  Next  he  put  on  the  old  man's  breeches,  which 
were  also  patched  all  over.  "By  the  truth  of  my  body,  when  I 
am  fully  dressed,"  quoth  Robin,  "I  can  truly  say,  'This  man 
loved  little  price.'  "  Then  he  put  on  the  palmer's  shoes,  that  were 
patched  beneath  and  full  of  holes  above.  Robin  looked  himself 
over  with  a  wry  smile,  then,  bidding  the  palmer  God-speed,  he 
walked  on  to  the  town.  There,  wandering  up  and  down  the 
streets,  he  chanced  to  meet  the  proud  Sheriff. 

"The  saints  save  thee,  dread  Sheriff,"  quoth  he.  "What  wilt 
thou  give  to  a  silly  old  man  to-day  to  be  hangman?" 

Now  the  Sheriff  had  been  hunting  all  over  the  town,  yet  had 
found  no  one  who  would  do  the  deed,  so  this  offer  was  just  to 
his  liking.  "The  hangman's  fee  to-day,"  he  replied,  "is  thirteen 
pence  and  the  three  suits  of  the  men  that  are  to  die  upon  the 
gallows."  Then  Robin  twirled  around  and  gave  a  lively  hop, 
skip,  and  jump.  "Nay,  by  the  mass,"  quoth  the  Sheriff,  "that 
is  a  lively  caper  for  an  old  man." 

"I  was  ne'er  a  hangman  in  all  my  life,"  cried  Robin,  "nor  do 
I  like  the  trade,  for  a  curse  is  upon  the  man  that  was  first  a 
hangman.  Proud  Sheriff,  I  have  a  horn  in  my  pocket,  that  I 
got  from  Robin  Hood,  and  a  blast  from  it  would  blow  thee  little 
good." 

"Oh,  wind  that  horn,  thou  ragged  fellow,"  said  the  Sheriff. 
"I  care  not  though  thou  blow  such  a  blast  that  both  thine  eyes 
fall  out." 

Then  Robin  took  the  horn  from  under  his  ragged  coat  and 
blew  both  loud  and  shrill.  Instantly  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  his 
men  were  seen  running  up  the  street. 

[276J 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Who  are  those  men,"  the  Sheriff  said,  "that  run  so  hard 
and  fast?" 

Brave  Robin  replied,  "In  truth,  they  are  friends  of  mine, 
come  to  pay  a  visit  to  thee."  Straightway  he  took  a  sword 
from  one  of  his  men  and  led  the  band  on  to  the  prison  door, 
while  a  dozen  stout  yeomen  took  the  Sheriff  and  bound  him  hand 
and  foot.  When  the  prison  guards  saw  Robin  and  Little  John, 
they  fell  on  their  knees  begging  for  mercy  and  gave  up  the  key 
of  the  prison.  Soon  the  three  young  men  were  given  their  free- 
dom. 

"Now  come  with  me,  my  three  brave  fellows,"  quoth  Robin. 
"I  wish  to  bring  you  back  myself  to  your  weeping  mother." 
So  Robin  led  the  three  brothers  to  the  widow's  cottage,  and 
when  they  all  stood  before  her,  he  said,  "Good  widow,  as  I 
promised,  I  have  freed  thy  three  sons  and  now  bring  them  back 
to  thee  safe  and  sound." 

"The  saints  shower  blessings  upon  thy  head,  bold  Robin 
Hood,  and  a  widow's  prayer  follow  thee  where'er  thou  dost  go." 

Now  while  Robin  was  doing  this  good  deed,  a  sad  thing  befell 
without  his  knowledge.  Some  of  his  men  took  up  the  gallows 
and  placed  it,  as  well  as  the  Sheriff,  upon  a  cart;  then,  with  a 
mighty  shout,  they  dragged  it  to  an  open  glade  in  the  forest. 
The  Sheriff  now  saw  that  his  last  hour  was  nigh.  He  knew  that 
these  men  were  grimly  resolved  to  revenge  themselves  for  his 
cruelty  through  many  long  years.  His  own  men  had  forsaken 
him,  and  he  thought  it  hard  they  should  leave  him  to  die  the 
most  ignoble  death  known  to  man,  yet  he  bethought  him  that 
this  death  was  but  the  same  he  had  planned  for  three  of  their 
own  band  at  this  very  hour.  His  mind  went  back  to  Will  Stutely 
and  to  Little  John— how  near  they  had  been  to  a  like  fate.  He 
quaked  to  see  how  fast  they  worked  to  set  up  the  gallows.  In 
but  a  few  more  moments  he,  old  in  the  service  of  the  King,  was 
to  breathe  his  last.  Then  four  brawny  fellows  laid  their  heavy 
hands  on  him  and  bound  his  arms  tightly  to  his  body  with  hide 
thongs.  .  . 

"Where,  oh,  where  is  Robin,  your  captain,  and  where  is  Little 
[2771 


ROBIN    HOOD 

John?"jnoaned  the  Sheriff,  in  piteous  tones.  "They  would  never 
see  done  so  foul  a  deed,  for  with  all  their  faults  I  have  never 
known  them  to  stain  their  fame  with  cold-blooded  murder." 

"No,  thou  wretch,"  said  one  outlaw,  "but  we  know  what 
thou  wouldst  have  done,  this  very  hour,  and  many  a  time  before. 
Didst  thou  e'er  have  mercy  upon  us?  Think  on  Will  Stutely — 
saved  from  the  very  gallows,  and  these  to-day,  our  comrades, 
three  brothers,  worthy  sons  of  a  poor  lone  widow!  Three  good 
men  for  shooting  a  deer!  Away  with  him — hanging's  too  good 
for  such  a  knave!" 

Thus  died  the  Sheriff  of  Nottingham,  not  with  the  will  or 
knowledge  of  Robin  Hood,  but  through  the  hasty  anger  of  some 
of  his  men  who  had  grown  lawless  in  his  old  age. 

'Twas  but  an  hour  later  when  Robin,  Little  John,  and  Will 
Stutely  were  returning  to  the  oak  glade,  happy  indeed  that 
they  had  given  back  to  the  poor  old  widow  her  three  young 
sons.  As  they  turned  from  a  little  fern-clad  path  into  an  open 
glade  they  saw  hanging  high  above  them  the  body  of  a  man 
hung  up  by  the  neck. 

"God-a-mercy!"  quotlr  Robin,  "what  have  we  here?  And  who 
are  they  that  would  defile  our  woods  with  such  a  horrid  sight?" 

But  Will  Stutely  at  once  understood  what  had  been  done. 
"Our  men,"  quoth  he,  "have  done  here  the  worst  day's  work 
of  their  lives,  dear  uncle.  That  is  the  Sheriff  of  Nottingham 
that  hangs  so  high  in  air." 

"What!"  shouted  Robin  and  Little  John  in  the  same  breath. 
"Nay,  nay,  our  men  would  not  of  their  own  free  will  be  guilty 
of  so  foul  a  deed."  Then  Robin  put  his  horn  to  his  mouth  and 
blew  three  loud  blasts,  and  then  another  three.  Ere  the  echoes 
died  away  the  whole  band  came  running  at  full  speed  through 
the  forest  and  ranged  themselves  before  him. 

"My  loved  and  brave  companions  of  many  years,"  said  Robin 
Hood,  gazing  up  at  the  grim-looking  thing  aloft,  "is  this  the 
work  of  mine  own  band?" 

None  gave  answer,  and  none  dared  look  their  leader  in  the 
face,  but  all  hung  their  heads  in  shame. 

[278] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

'  Tis  a  black  day's  work  that  ye  have  done  for  us  all,  and 
by  it  we  shall  all  pay  dearly  but  justly.  What  can  we  do,  think 
ye,  my  men?  We  cannot  leave  the  grim  thing  hanging  there. 
Who  is  there  among  you  that  dares  take  the  body  back  to  Not- 
tingham? The  townsfolk  know  full  well  ye  took  the  Sheriff 
away  along  with  the  gallows.  In  a  little  while  the  King  will 
be  told,  and  then  what  think  ye  he  will  do?"  With  bowed  heads 
Robin  and  Little  John  left  the  place,  and  the  men  silently  fol- 
lowed on  at  a  distance  behind. 

Five  days  had  passed  since  the  Sheriff  met  his  fate.  The 
outlaws  went  about  their  usual  affairs  in  glum  silence.  The 
merry  song  and  laughter  had  died  away;  the  glade  was  silent 
and  gloomy.  Robin  and  John  felt  a  storm  was  brewing,  so 
they  got  together  a  fair  share  of  their  treasure  and  money  and 
brought  it  to  Fountains  Abbey.  On  the  sixth  day  one  of  the 
widow's  sons  came  and  stood  before  Robin  Hood. 

"What  news,"  quoth  Robin,  "hast  thou  to  give  a  broken  old 
man?" 

"Dire  and  black  is  the  news,  bold  Robin.  The  Sheriff's  men 
have  cut  down  the  body,  and  all  the  town  and  country  is  ablaze 
with  rage.  Yet  they  know  that  neither  Little  John  nor  thou 
had  part  in  the  crime.  The  King  hath  sent  five  companies  of 
archers,  with  knights  and  men-at-arms,  all  to  storm  the  oak 
glade  and  kill  every  outlaw.  My  two  brothers  have  been  seized, 
and  on  pain  of  death  must  guide  the  army  to  this  place  on  the 
morrow  soon  after  break  of  day.  I  alone  have  ventured  to  tell 
the  tale  and  warn  thee." 

Then  Robin  called  his  men  around  him,  and  told  them  what 
was  in  store  for  them.  "Go,  my  comrades  all,"  he  said,  "to 
the  treasury,  and  share  among  yourselves  whatever  may  be 
therein.  Take  all  ye  want  from  the  armory,  the  clothiery,  and 
the  buttery.  But  see  that  ye  share  alike.  Take  the  goods  to 
whatever  hiding-places  ye  like,  but  let  them  be  far  from  here. 
Henceforth  each  man  must  be  his  own  master.  Go  where  ye 
will,  but  stay  not  here  to  see  another  sunrise.  For  myself,  I 

[2791 


ROBIN    HOOD 

will  hie  to  Fountains  Abbey,  there  to  await  my  end  and  pa- 
tiently endure  what  judgment  the  King  may  lay  upon  me. 
If  I  should  be  pardoned,  then  with  the  help  of  young  Friar  Cecil 
I  will  give  myself  to  God  and  our  good  Lady  dear,  till  the  final 
day." 

At  these  last  words  he  turned  aside;  and  many  of  the  outlaws 
wept  scalding  tears  as  they  slowly  moved  away  for  the  final 
sharing  of  their  goods,  of  which  there  was  enough  to  place  them 
all  above  want  for  many  years  to  come.  In  such  wise  did  Robin 
leave  them,  well-nigh  heartbroken  with  sorrow  and  shame. 
Followed  by  Little  John  and  Cecil,  he  strode  from  the  glade 
into  the  leafy  forest;  and  with  one  glance  backward  he  saw, 
through  his  blinding  tears,  the  last  of  his  woodland  home  of  the 
merry,  happy  past. 

As  the  sun  set,  like  a  blood-red  ball  flickering  through  the 
leafy  trees  behind  the  great  oak,  the  glen  was  lonely  and  silent. 
Not  a  single  footfall  touched  the  greensward  that  for  threescore 
years  and  more  had  been  trampled  by  many  feet.  At  morning, 
at  noon,  and  at  evening,  the  air  had  resounded  with  music,  song, 
and  merry  jest,  with  laughter  and  jocund  jollity.  But  now  all 
was  changed  and  still.  The  sevenscore  archers,  in  large  and 
small  groups,  had  gone  their  ways.  The  birds  now  sang  to 
themselves  a  doleful  ditty;  their  merry  human  companions  had 
left  them  never  to  return. 

Early  on  the  following  morn,  archers  and  men-at-arms  could 
be  seen  tearing  down  the  two  great  towers.  The  great  oak, 
with  its  secret  passage,  was  cut  to  pieces;  the  beautiful  bower 
that  Robin  had  kept  fresh  and  green  since  the  day,  years  agone, 
when  Marian  had  died,  was  leveled  to  the  ground.  Indeed,  all 
that  the  outlaws  had  made  for  their  use  and  comfort  was  clean 
destroyed.  Such  was  the  doleful  and  bitter  end  of  Robin  Hood's 
woodland  home  in  Sherwood  Forest. 


XXV 

ROBIN    HOOD'S    DEATH    AND    BURIAL 

D  now,  with  sad,  aching  hearts,  we  go  to 
Fountains  Abbey,  lovingly  and  piously  built, 
[  stone  upon  stone,  by  the  jolly  Friar  Tuck, 
whose  body  rests  peacefully  beside  the  trick- 
ling fountain.     In  the  little,  well-known  cell 
we  find  the  bold  and  brave  Robin  Hood.  What 
_  __       a  change  has  come  over  the  dear,  kindly  face 

in  a  few  hours!  His  hair  and  beard  seem  to  have  grown  quite 
white  in  a  single  day.  His  strong,  sturdy  body,  of  late  so  youth- 
ful, now  looks  loose  and  limp.  His  cheerful,  manly  voice  has  be- 
come low  and  sad-toned.  Young  Cecil  begs  him  to  take  some 
barley-broth  and  then  lie  down  in  sleep  to  forget  his  woe. 

"Nay,  nay,  my  gentle  Cecil,"  quoth  Robin,  "I  have  no  wish 
to  eat  or  drink;  and  as  for  sleep,  I  am  not  worthy  of  such  a  boon." 
"Alack,  good  master,"  said  Little  John,  with  a  rising  lump  in 
his  throat,  "take  it  not  so  to  heart.  Thou  art  not  to  blame,  or 
the  King  would  have  been  here  ere  now,  for  he  knoweth  thy 
retreat." 

Quoth  Robin:  "I  am  not  able  to  shoot  one  shot  more,  and  my 
arrows  will  not  again  flee.  Take  me,  then,  sweet  Little  John, 
to  Kirkley  nunnery,  that  my  cousin — who  is  the  abbess  and  well 

[281] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

skilled  in  leechcraft — may  bleed  me  and  so  heal  me  of  my  illness. 
Help  me,  pious  Cecil,  to  fair  Kirkley,  that  the  abbess  may  mend 
my  state."  So  they  placed  him  upon  a  litter  drawn  by  a  mule, 
and  with  Little  John  and  tall,  young  Cecil  walking  on  either 
side,  he  came  by  easy  stages  to  the  nunnery.  Little  John  rang 
the  bell  to  call  the  abbess. 

"Come  in,"  quoth  she,  when  she  saw  Robin,  "and  drink 
some  wine  to  strengthen  thy  body." 

"Nay,  my  cousin,  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink  till  thou  hast 
bled  me." 

"Well,  Cousin  Robin,  I  have  a  room  in  the  tall  tower  which 
thou  hast  never  seen;  and  if  it  please  thee  to  enter,  I  will  do  that 
which  thou  dost  desire." 

When  Little  John  and  Cecil  would  have  followed  after,  the 
abbess  said:  "Go  back,  go  back,  our  skill  is  sufficient  and  we 
need  no  help."  So  they  stayed  outside  the  nunnery  and  sat 
under  the  shade  of  a  leafy  tree,  waiting,  very  down-hearted,  till 
they  should  hear  news  of  their  master. 

Now  I  must  tell  you  that  this  wicked  woman  knew  full  well 
what  had  befallen  the  Sheriff  of  Nottingham,  and  in  her  evil 
heart  she  conceived  it  would  please  the  King  to  hear  of  Robin's 
death.  Thus  she  resolved  so  to  bleed  Robin  that  he  would  never 
recover.  Taking  him  by  the  hand,  she  led  him  to  a  private 
room  in  the  nunnery  tower  and  tied  his  arm  tight  round  with 
linen  bands.  Then  she  took  a  long  sharp  knife,  and  with  evil 
intent  cut  into  one  of  the  larger  veins,  so  that  he  would  bleed  fast 
and  soon  die.  After  she  had  done  this  she  heartlessly  left  him 
alone  in  the  room,  locked  the  door,  and  went  away  out  of  sight 
and  sound. 

Robin  soon  grew  weaker,  and  he  cried  aloud,  begging  for  help; 
but  no  help  was  nigh.  Then  he  got  up  and  tried  to  raise  the 
casement  window,  that  he  might  leap  down  or  cry  out  to  his 
faithful  John,  but  his  weakness  was  so  great  that  he  could  move 
it  only  a  little.  At  last,  weary  and  faint,  he  bethought  him  of 
his  horn,  which  so  oft  had  saved  him  from  danger.  Setting  it 
to  his  lips,  he  blew  three  weak  blasts. 

[282] 


ROBIN  SHOOTS  HIS  LAST  SHAFT 


ROBIN   HOOD 

When  Little  John  heard  the  sound  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  crying: 
"I  fear  my  master  is  near  dead;  he  blows  so  wearily.'*  Then  he 
ran  as  fast  as  he  could  go  to  the  nunnery  door,  but  they  would 
not  open  to  him. 

Nearly  beside  himself  with  rage,  he  looked  about  him  and  saw 
a  massive  piece  of  oak.  Straightway  he  picked  it  up  in  his  brawny 
arms  and  hurled  it  with  such  force  that  it  split  die  strong  door 
apart.  Then,  followed  by  Cecil,  he  ran  up,  screaming  loudly, 
"Master,  my  dear  master,  I  have  come  to  save  thee." 

As  he  paused  to  listen  he  thought  he  heard  a  faint  cry  of 
distress;  and,  bounding  up  the  steps  of  the  tower,  he  threw  his 
great  body  with  a  terrific  bang  against  the  door  so  that  the  lock 
burst.  He  found  his  poor  master  still  bleeding  and  faint  upon 
the  floor. 

"A  boon,  a  boon,  master,"  he  cried,  as  he  knelt  and  supported 
him  in  his  arms. 

"What  is  the  boon,"  faintly  asked  Robin  Hood,  "that  thou 
dost  beg  of  me?" 

"It  is  to  burn  this  fair  Kirkley  Hall,"  quoth  John,  "and  all 
their  nunnery." 

"Now,  nay,"  quoth  Robin  Hood,  "that  boon  I  will  not  grant. 
I  never  hurt  woman  in  all  my  life,  nor  man  in  woman's  company, 
and  now  at  the  end  of  my  life  it  shall  not  be.  It  is  for  God  and 
our  good  Lady  to  wipe  away  all  stains.  Let  these  poor  women 
be,  for  I  am  dying,  dear  John,  and  fain  would  be  at  peace  with 
all  now,  as  I  wished  when  in  health.  Thou  hast  been  ever  a 
faithful  comrade  and  dear  brother,  so  let  my  end  be  without 
strife  or  guile.  Now  give  me  my  long-bow  in  my  hand,  that 
through  this  window  I  may  shoot  one  more  shaft,  and  wheresoever 
it  is  taken  up,  there  let  my  grave  be  dug." 

Then  the  great,  large-hearted  John,  with  hot  tears  on  his 
cheeks,  lifted  up  his  beloved  master  and  carried  him,  tenderly 
as  a  mother  carries  her  babe,  to  the  open  casement.  Young 
Friar  Cecil  lifted  up  the  great  bow,  nocked  a  shaft,  and  placed 
it  in  the  weak,  pale  hands.  Robin  pulled  the  string  as  far  as  he 
could,  and  with  a  loud  twang  the  shaft  sped  on  its  way. 

[285] 


ROBIN    HOOD 

"Oh,  sweet  music  of  my  bow  that  lulls  me  to  everlasting  sleep  1" 
quoth  he.  "A  last  boon,  my  faithful  brothers,  do  I  ask  before 
I  die.  Lay  a  green  sod  before  my  head,  and  another  at  my  feet, 
and  place  my  bent  bow  by  my  side,  that  I  may  still  hear  its  sweet 
music.  Make  the  top  of  my  grave  of  gravel  and  green  shrubs. 
Let  me  have  length  and  breadth  enough  to  lie  at  ease.  Then 
place  a  stone  upon  the  sod,  that  they  may  say  when  I  am  dead, 
'Here  lies  the  bold  Robin  Hood/  " 

Both  readily  promised  him  it  should  be  done.  Then  gently 
and  slowly  his  head  fell  upon  John's  breast,  and  his  spirit  winged 
its  way.  John  carried  his  master  tenderly  down  the  winding 
stairs  out  of  the  nunnery,  and  they  buried  him  where  the  arrow 
had  struck  beneath  a  wide-branching  oak-tree. 

So  here  we  take  leave  of  the  noble  and  brave  Robin  Hood. 

Little  John  and  Friar  Cecil  went  back  to  Fountains  Abbey, 
but  not  to  stay.  Old  memories  were  so  closely  woven  about 
this  little  hermitage  that  they  could  not  bear  a  life  of  loneliness 
there.  So  each  one  wended  his  own  way.  John  went  to  join 
some  relatives  who  lived  at  a  little  village  called  Hathersage 
in  Derbyshire,  where  he  lived  a  retired  life  for  a  few  years,  and 
where  he  was  buried.  Young  Friar  Cecil,  with  a  long  life-work 
before  him,  entered  a  priory,  and  gave  himself  wholly  to  the 
Church. 


THE    END 


II II 

'3  1158005247308 


